Irresistable Forces
by kydasam
Summary: Friendship Fic Mixing Family and one's personal life can be difficult at best. Carl's family comes to visit. When he & VH are are turned into children it takes a turn for the worse. Warning: Unabashed cuteness.
1. Chapter 1

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: A new story

**Summary: A new threat is coming to the Order**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited); some violent concepts though not graphic

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback**: I hope that you enjoy this new story and that you'll feel free to tell me what you like and/or what you don't. The sole purpose of this story is to make you laugh and toward that end I plan to take all leave of propriety. Hopefully, it'll work! Thank you for reading!

_Special thanks to **Chibi Kaz** and **Toto from Kansas** for urging me to keep writing. As always, my thanks to my muse Archangel Gabriel, the patron saint of the written word._

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**Irresistible Forces 1**

_When they told me, I could only gape like a fish at them. I think I was in shock. They made me sit down, right there at my lab table. Cardinal Jinette, himself, gave me a cup of water to gulp down. I guess he thought that, as I was oggling him like a beached fish, I could probably use it. _

_When I had gulped down every last drop I thrust the cup out to him and asked for more. Fortunately, he overlooked any impropriety in the act and had father Johan fetch me another. All the time, I felt my skin burn red and saw my hands shake. I simply could not stop thinking, "This is not a good thing! This is definitely not a good thing!"_

"_Sir?" I managed as I emerged from my second cupful spluttering and clutching Jinette's robe, "Please, isn't there anything you can do?"_

_Again, his Grace had the decency to overlook my mauling his person. Instead, he patted my hand with commiseration. Upon his face was the look of pity that one fetches up for the truly blighted when there is no explaining the will of God. _

"_My son," he said softly in the rounded tones of his native Roma, "perhaps it will not be as bad you think. You will be able to rise above it, I think..."_

"_Nononono," I cut him off shamefully as I dropped the empty cup on the table and covered my face with my hands. _

_The labs had assumed the watchfulvoyeuristic respect given a terrible roadside accident. I could feel their eyes, feel their pity touching me, branding me shamefully. Everything was quiet, even the forges had ceased their relentless roar. And then, cutting through the thick silence, I heard his boot falls and then his abominably cheerful voice,_

"_Carl! Your family's coming to visit, eh? We'll finally get to see what stock that brain comes from!"_

_All around me, I heard the rustle of robes as the men who worked with me everyday, and who had been present the last time my family had had cause to visit, crossed themselves. I couldn't blame them. I knew better than any of them what we were to face._

* * *

Outside, bathed in the warm golden light of the Roman afternoon sun, Van Helsing sat upon the edge of the well at the back of the stables. He had come here with Carl in the hopes of bringing him to his senses and to some degree he had. The friar sat beside him, his hands that had seemed permanently attached to his face were now resting like limp boneless fish upon his sackcloth-covered knees. His friend had the air of a man who had resigned himself to fate. There was a pitiful inevitability to him that made the hunter frown and feel completely out of his depth. 

"Carl...," he began, and then paused, biting his lip. He wanted to demand an answer but he wasn't sure of a tactful way to do so. It seemed that the friar was not pleased with the news that his family would be arriving on the next day. True, the lack of warning was a bit off-putting. Considering the journey Carl's family would have to make from England to Rome, surely they could have sent some advance word. It would have allowed their son to better prepare for the visit. But, in looking at Carl and remembering the averted eyes of the other men in the labs, he began to wonder if the lack of word had been a strategy rather than an oversight. He was deep in thought and was ridiculously startled when Carl chose that moment to speak at last.

"You don't know, of course. You weren't here five years ago...when they last visited." The friar shook his head as he set his mouth in a grim line of disapprobation. "And since you and I work closely together, I suppose I should prepare you for the inevitable interest they'll take in you."

"Carl...they're family," Van Helsing began, perplexed, only to stop as the friar heaved a deep sigh and waggled a finger at him.

"No," the friar said in carefully measured tones," they are a task, set by God, to be met and weathered. Van Helsing, my family is...well..."

"Difficult?" the hunter supplied helpfully and raised an eyebrow at the explosive snort that erupted from his friend.

"Apocalyptic," Carl corrected firmly. "They are a force of nature, an upheaval in the scheme of things. Grandmother Kayla, Aunt Sophie, and my mother, Elizabeth, could have easily sat for a portrait of the Three Horsemen..."

"Unless your family is a good deal odder than anyone suspects, I doubt they could have," Van Helsing interrupted. "Carl, they're three women—women who gave you life and raised you."

"And I'm grateful," Carl threw up his hands as he slid off the well to the ground and then began to pace. His shuffling bootfalls threw up small puffs of dirt into the warm golden air with each step. "I love them; don't get me wrong on that, Van Helsing. I love my family. But you don't know what they're like! I don't think Nana Kayla has ever seen a man or woman that she didn't picture them in curls and diapers. And Aunt Sophie...my God! She's been married six times! And she's lived to put every one of her husbands into the ground. With a smile on his face that stretched from ear to ear!" Carl paused in his horrified recital as a snort from the hunter made him glare at the other man. "Oh yes, laugh while you may! You'll have something different to say after she's chased you from the labs to the stables. Your arse will be black and blue from her grasping pinching claws!"

"And your mother?" Van Helsing asked. The smile on his face and the laughter in his voice was carefully hidden behind his hand.

"Yes, my mother...Lady Elizabeth. Don't be surprised at anything she does. She's a frustrated physician with a cure for everything. And she's not above mothering Cardinal Jinette, so don't be surprised when she tries to mother you! When she was here last, she was appalled at the lack of hygiene. She insisted on washing all our robes in a strong solution."

"Ah...that was nice of her," Van Helsing chuckled.

"We were _wearing_ the robes at the time!" Carl shouted as he rounded on his hopelessly naive friend. "She had us all lined up, cowering before her in our _underthings! _While she washed our robes, she scolded us about the dirt under our fingernails!"

Van Helsing's explosive bark of laughter made him rock back dangerously over the open well. He was saved from a tumble into the cold dark water by Carl snatching the front of his sweater and dragging him forward until they were nose to nose.

"You don't know," Carl hissed into the hunter's sparkling dark eyes. "She has a way about her that makes you do..._things_. Things you would swear you would never ever do. They just seem so damned reasonable by the time she's done with you."

"And the rest of your family? Your father? Doesn't he temper her actions?" Van Helsing asked as he patted Carl's shoulder in an effort to calm the man. It seemed to work because Carl released his sweater. The friar then turned to slide down to the ground in an abject heap against the well wall.

"My father," Carl sighed. "I think he enjoys it, actually. He never wanted me to come to the church. He thought I'd join the family business of shipping."

"I'm sorry, Carl," Van Helsing said as he companionably nudged the slumped friar with the toe of his boot. When Carl didn't rally, Van Helsing slid off the well and settled himself onto the warm dusty grass beside his friend. He pushed his shoulder into Carl's until he was rewarded with an eye roll and a shove back.

"It's alright," Carl said with a shrug. "I love them, I really do. And my father, for all that he wanted me to join the business, he understood my wishes in the end. He even purchased a place for me here, at the Vatican. Every year, he makes a large donation. He's pleased that I've found a place that suits me."

"Does he know what you do every day?" Van Helsing asked, and then shook his head as Carl did. "When they visit, they'll simply see a friar rather than an inventor?"

"Nono," Carl smiled quickly. "They'd never believe that. They know that I could never be happy unless I was inventing. Cardinal Jinette will allow me to use the side labs. I have some projects there that I work upon, off and on."

"Projects?"

"Oh, you know. Things that can be used about the See...fertilizers, tools for harvesting, and more delicate things for use within the library..."

"Carl, you never cease to amaze me. It never occurred to me that you even left your lab table."

"Hah hah," Carl sneered, but his previous mood of melancholy was dissipating. He was eyeing the hunter with something akin to his usual bravado. "There's obviously a great deal about me that you don't know. Don't let it worry you, though...my mother will be happy to tell you anything you want to know. At great embarrassing length. While my grandmother tries to curl your hair and Aunt Sophie gooses you."

* * *

The Order went into high gear, though for once their energies were not directed toward the quelling of evil but rather for self-preservation. Carl's family was well known—both for their philanthropy towards the Vatican and their less desirable traits. Van Helsing watched in amazement as men who faced evil incarnate without flinching now girded their respective loins in dread of Carl's relatives. Even Cardinal Jinette seemed to be a changed man. He had the air of a man commanding his troops to prepare for a great battle. He didn't countenance anyone who didn't take it seriously, as Van Helsing was to find out. 

The Cardinal had a high regard for Carl's relatives' intelligence. He did not for a moment believe that behind their outrageous behavior there was not a keen intellect. They could easily pierce any hastily erected veil over the Order's doings. Ideally, it would have been best if Carl's relatives were never allowed this far into the inner workings of the Order. But, as had been demonstrated time and again, they had a dismaying tendency to scatter and then converge upon any weakness. During their last visit, Carl's grandmother had actually found the entrance to the labs. She had only been diverted from entering them by the sacrifice of Brother Ezekiel. The brave man had thrown himself upon the woman and had suffered her delighted attentions stoically as his fellows had cravenly sealed the hidden door behind him--and then bolted it.

They had been unprepared before. They would not repeat that mistake again.

90-year old Father Guri, who was inclined to mix gentle flatulence with fond reminisces about the past exploits of the Order, was respectfully bundled off for parts unknown until such time as he could safely return.

The Lab was fortified with food and water and the men who would remain were selected as provisions were made to seal it for the duration of the visit.

The master forge smith, Abraham, was uprooted and forcibly removed from his miraculous forge and forced to take up shop at the far less desirable forge outside of the stables. While his duties were primarily those of the Order's, he was occasionally needed for the more mundane blacksmithing tasks about the See—a fact that he usually did his best to ignore or avoid all together. He had made his displeasure abundantly, and loudly, clear and Carl had taken due note that he would need to avoid the man for some time to come.

Both Van Helsing and Carl were summoned to the Cardinal's apartments. The fact that the massive, elaborately carved wooden doors were guarded by two sets of Vatican Guards might have been laughable if the guards had not had such grim forbidding expressions that attested that they found nothing humorous in their duties.

At their approach, one of the guards knocked three times against the closed doors with the butt of his halberd, and then pushed it open as his fellows moved to the side to allow the two men to enter.

Van Helsing had never been inside Jinette's private quarters before--it proved to be as opulent as the rest of the Palace. Thick red velvet rugs, a huge soft bed set high on a platform and covered in deep red coverings, velvet-hung curtains, and a desk made of glimmering wood. Jinette stood facing a large fireplace, his hands behind his back. He didn't look back to see who had entered--he always seemed to know.

"Carl, Van Helsing," the older prelate began without preamble. "Time is drawing short; I wished to be certain you knew what your parts would be." Jinette turned to fix each man with a gimlet stare before continuing to speak directly to Carl. "I do not disrespect your family, Carl. They have been generous with us in the past, both in largesse as well as affording us your own invaluable gifts."

"Yes your Grace, thank you," Carl murmured as he mentally groaned at the flood of heat that colored his normally pale face. He heard the soft snort of the man beside him and shifted slightly so that he could press his foot down—hard—over Van Helsing's toes. He couldn't really get good leverage so he wasn't surprised when the hunter gave no sign of discomfort though he did take some comfort in the elbow to the ribs Van Helsing gave him.

Jinette fixed the hunter with steely grey eyes that had no difficulty in perceiving the lightheartedness of the hunter's demeanor.

"You, Van Helsing, do not take this impending visit seriously?"

"No, your Grace," Van Helsing replied promptly. "It's just Carl's family..."

"A family that was capable of producing a genius son," Jinette interrupted forcefully. "A family that has held an easy monopoly on the shipping trade for generations. Who makes donations to the Vatican that would equal the yearly income of most families without batting an eye. If you cannot conceive of such a family, then you must at least respect the fact that men whom you have known for the last four years as unflinching in the fight against evil now have cause for concern. Carl's family brings with it certain challenges. He will need your help and understanding to deal with them."

"Yes, your Grace." Van Helsing murmured, and then added, "And what will you be doing during The Visit?"

Jinette sniffed at the hunter's impertinence, but answered just the same. "I shall also be available to Carl and his family. Carl, your family will stay at the Palace, in the apartments that have been prepared for them. You also will stay with them, as will Van Helsing."

"Me?" the hunter asked, one dark eyebrow rising in surprise.

Jinette sighed, and then shrugged. "On their last visit, Lady Elizabeth expressed concern that Carl did not appear to have made any...close attachments. Friends. She expressed her concerns quite freely and at length..."

"To his Holiness," Carl sighed and closed his eyes in mortification.

"We would wish to avoid that this time," Jinette said sternly. "You are friends with one another, are you not?"

Van Helsing looked down at Carl, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "We get along alright," he acknowledged, resisting the urge to ruffle the blond hair on the friar's drooping head.

"Very good," Jinette nodded with evident relief. "I am relieved, as much for Carl's sake as his family's. You will want to get settled, then. I believe your family is due to arrive at noon tomorrow, Carl?"

"Yes, your Grace," Carl nodded, unconsciously straightening his shoulders. "That's what the wire said."

"Then I will let you go to prepare." Jinette turned away only to turn back, a thoughtful expression upon his face that softened it considerably. When he spoke, his voice was soft and his manner was fond.

"Carl, I think it is easy to forget in the midst of preparing that the people who are coming _are_ your family. Whatever...eccentricities...they might have, they love you. That has been very obvious from the beginning. Don't let the difficulties of this visit cloud your enjoyment of that fact. Yes?"

The friar blinked in surprise and nodded with a certain tentativeness that made Jinette smile. He approached the blond and laid his hands upon Carl's shoulders, squeezing slightly.

"We have been fortunate to have you with us, Carl. We owe your family a very great debt of gratitude. Rest assured that we do not forget that."

With a final pat on the friar's shoulder, Jinette turned away to once again face the fireplace and his thoughts.

Van Helsing took the befuddled friar's elbow, pulling him away. As they crossed the opulent room, back to the massive doors, Van Helsing leaned in to whisper into Carl's ears.

"He actually seemed human. I'm beginning to believe all of this might be real after all."

Carl rolled his eyes heavenward. He had known mules that balked at moving even in the face of a charging bear that were less dense than the man who walked at his side now. He was reminded of the age-old puzzle—in the face of an irresistible force, what becomes of an immovable object? He suspected that Van Helsing's world was about to be rocked.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: A new story

**Summary: The preparations are complete, Carl's family arrives.**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited); some violent concepts though not graphic

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback**: Thank you so much for taking the time to leave feedback for this story! Absolutely, I plan to finish this story. My especial thanks to Ryannaenthallia for bringing up the difficulty of explaining Van Helsing's place in the scheme of Carl's life. I hope that I was successful—though I must admit that mothers are not often fooled and even the best laid plans may still go awry!

My thanks for feedback to: NeyNya (yay! Stalk away!), Seadragon68 (hugs!), Eris86, Kawaiikitsune90 and Ryannaenthallia. I hope that you enjoy this new chapter!

_Special thanks to my muse Archangel Gabriel, the patron saint of the written word._

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**Irresistible Forces 2**

The next day dawned inexorably and the Order rose with it. The final preparations had been hastily made—the Labs were sealed, Carl's new lab had been stocked and prepared to appear as if they were used every day, and the Palace apartments where he and his family would stay had been cleaned and fluffed to a mirror shine. There remained only one thing left to do...

"_Absolutely not_!"

Van Helsing folded his arms obdurately over his chest, his dark brows drawing down over stormy eyes as he faced Carl, Cardinal Jinette and Brother Felcher. The three clerics had chosen to face Van Helsing within the apartments that Carl's family would stay in for the simple reason that they were the farthest away from the main thoroughfares and the hunter's inevitable outrage would remain private.

"_Get the hell off me_!"

This last was growled at Brother Felcher who had been the Order's stores keeper for 30 years. The man had a reputation for toughness that balked even the most insistent, orally gifted, pitiful men who ever begged for a bar of soap. To say that Brother Felcher was the most close-fisted, stingy, miserly skinflint that had ever shaved his scalp for a tonsure and then insisted on collecting the fallen hair to sell to a wig maker would be only approximating his basic nature. In addition to those charming qualities he also possessed the most amazingly sour nature that had ever peeled paint from fifty paces. He never smiled, never attempted to allow one ounce of pleasantry to interrupt his 30-year-old bad mood.

Until now.

Brother Felcher had one weakness and that had only been known to two men in the entire Order before this—Brother Felcher himself and Cardinal Jinette. As of that morning, the number of those 'in the know' had increased by two.

"I assure you, it will be stunning on you! Basic black will be marvelously flattering to you!"

Van Helsing drew back from the cleric's fluttering pale hands until his backside met a wall with a resounding _thump._His eyes never left the unctuously smiling, simpering man who pouted at him as he alternately clutched a black robe to himself and then proffered it to the hunter as though offering up his first born.

"Er...," Carl began uncertainly only to have Cardinal Jinette halt his words with one raised finger as he settled back in the chair he currently graced like a monarch, with every indication of enjoyment. It had been a long time since the Cardinal had seen Van Helsing so discomfited; he had no intention of hurrying or mitigating the scene that played out before him.

The hunter stifled a growl that vibrated in his chest as he eyed the unctuously smirking Brother. He watched in horroras the Brother's lips peeled back to expose hitherto unsuspected white teeth that were approximately the size of stone tablets. Felcher craned his neck forward,his eyes squeezed shut in an ear-to-ear simper as an explosive snort made his prominent nostrils flair and waggle like elephant ears.

"This robe is the very _finest_ fabric," the Brother cooed at his victim. "I selected it with your physique in mind; I believe you will be _most_ pleased!"

The robe moved forward, over the intervening space, closer and closer. Van Helsing's breath was coming faster as he sidled away, along the wall, toward the only available exit left open to him--the window overlooking the 3-story drop to the gardens below.

"_Your Grace_!" Carl squeaked, horrified.

Jinette sighed as he admitted that his pleasure in the unfolding scene would not be an adequate rationale if he allowed the hunter to jump rather than submit to the Brother's misplaced desire to clothe him.

"Brother Felcher, allow me to explain the situation to Van Helsing."

Felcher's advance stopped--or at least his feet reluctantly stopped, the rest of him kept going for another full foot until it looked like he would tip over onto the floor at the hunter's feet. Without thinking, Carl darted forward to catch the Brother's black robe, pulling him back to the vertical plane. His efforts went unnoticed as Felcher merely sighed, his large brown eyes fixed upon Van Helsing with all the liquid reproach of a basset hound's.

Jinette's hasty cough behind his concealing hand made the hunter's eyes narrow dangerously.

"Explain it to me, then," he said with silken menace that made goosebumps rise on Carl's skin and prompted a deep sigh from Felcher.

Jinette rose then from his chair, making his way with studied nonchalance to the window at the hunter's side. With a shrug, he smiled slyly at Van Helsing as he closed the window, latching it firmly.

"There is the matter of explaining your presence to Carl's family. We may hardly say that you are a hunter for the Order. Nor can you be passed off as a craftsman or even a simple villager. There would be no reason for you to be in Carl's constant company if that were the case. However, as a monk..."

Van Helsing's dark brows rose as if they had taken wing as his hazel eyes darted incredulously from one man to the other. A smile tugged at his lips until he was grinning as he snorted with explosive mirth.

"Me? A monk? You have to be joking! Or desperate! No one in their right mind is going to believe I'm a monk!"

"Ah! But clothes can make the man!" Felcher cooed as he raised one sleeve of the dark robe to the hunter's cheek, stroking it over Van Helsing's stubbled skin. "Just feel that!"

With a grimace, Van Helsing caught the Brother's arm and thrust it down as he fixed Jinette with a glare of implacable determination. "No. You'll have to think of something else."

"Er...," Carl interrupted, his manner was more hesitant than it would ever normally be due to being rattled by the unexpected appalling transformation of the stores clerk. He watched the man like one would a rattlesnake as he sidled to Van Helsing's side, his hands up and patting the air before him. "Perhaps, it might be better if we tried something else? We could simply say that Van Helsing is visiting the Vatican and that we are old friends. If asked, we can say he's a man of independent means, a sportsman who brings rare game now and again for the Palace's tables."

"Hmph," Jinette tapped his chin thoughtfully as he paced from the window and back. "It is a thought. Certainly it would be more in keeping with Van Helsing's character. How would you explain your association, though?"

"Ah. Well... I suppose we got to talking," Carl hastily adlibbed, his hands now steepled before him, fingertips patting together as he began to pace as well. "In return for news of the world and for certain delicacies, I might be persuaded to service his equipment, or even to make certain pieces for him."

"Carl, you're a genius!" Van Helsing clapped the friar on the shoulder with enough force to make him stagger. The hunter's relief was more than obvious. On the reverse, Brother Felcher's disappointment was pitiful to see.

Jinette patted the Brother on the back solicitously as he shrugged. "It does appear to be the best compromise," he explained. "Perhaps it would be best if you returned the robe to Stores."

With drooping shoulders and downcast eyes, the Brother sighed and turned away andtrailed abjectly from the room. The door to the apartments closed behind him with a barely audible _snick_.

"Thank God!" Van Helsing breathed as he slumped back against the wall.

Jinette eyed the hunter with disfavor; though, if forced, he would have to admit that he well understood Van Helsing's relief. "Do not be too hard on the good Brother," he admonished the other man. "Brother Felcher has the soul of a tailor within him. It is difficult for him to have to hand out and dress in shapeless robes. You were his first opportunity to satisfy his need for clothing someone besides his fellow monks."

"I'll send him flowers later," Van Helsing growled. Shaking his head, he pushed away from the wall. "Are we done, then?"

"You have moved your things to your new rooms?" Jinette asked, receiving nods from the two men. "Very well. I will leave you to settle yourselves. Your relatives should arrive by carriage a little after 2:00, Carl. We three will meet them. After they have had a chance to freshen up and relax, perhaps they would consent to join me for dinner in my apartments. You and Van Helsing are invited as well, of course."

Carl stepped hard on Van Helsing's toes and was gratified to hear the impending snarky reply become lost within a gasp of discomfort. His own reply was both pleased and gracious. "Yes, your Grace, thank you. I'm sure they'd be more than pleased."

Jinette nodded; then, favoring Carl with a smile and Van Helsing with an admonishing frown, the prelate left them alone.

The hunter immediately shoved Carl off his foot; wincing, he limped over to the chair that the Cardinal had vacated and sank into it gratefully. The look he favored Carl with was anything but friendly as he massaged his toes through the thin top of the soft boot he wore.

"You've put on a bit of weight, Carl. You might want to go easy at dinner tonight."

"Hmph. You're lucky I don't have my hobnails on," the friar observed stiffly. "Why do you insist on baiting him like that? He already thinks you're a combination of philistine and the devil's own son."

Van Helsing snorted inelegantly. "Don't be so sure. Besides, it's good for him. He's surrounded by bowing and scraping all day long, a little reality check is just what he needs."

"_You_ need competent medical help," Carl sniffed. "The sooner the better. Preferably the kind that would insist on a mouth gag and the type of waistcoat that ties snuggly up the back."

Van Helsing left off massaging his foot to slouch back into the chair, his eyes upon Carl softened as he recognized the friar's barely concealed discomfort. Despite Carl's attempt to appear as normal to the hunter, Van Helsing detected a hint of sadness in the other man's face and manner.

"Carl?"

"Shouldn't we be going back downstairs?" Carl asked with forced joviality as he clapped his hands together and set off briskly for the door and escape.

Setting his jaw determinedly, Van Helsing sprang up from his chair, easily beating Carl to the door where he leaned against the panel, crossing his arms over his chest with an air of finality.

Carl, brought up unexpectedly short, blinked in surprise at the other man as he fell back uncertainly.

"Van Helsing?"

The hunter shook his head as a smile touched his lips. With a grunt, he straightened and, slinging his arm about Carl's shoulders, led the friar back into the main room to push him unceremoniously down onto a low-slung couch. One long leg then snaked out to hook a straight-backed chair, dragging it over so that he could seat himself facing his friend.

"Carl, I know that this has all been a bit overwhelming..."

"A _bit_?" Carl's squawk of disbelief, bursting from him before he was even aware of it, had the friar blushing hotly and dropping his eyes to his lap where his fingers twisted in the scratchy material.

"Fair enough," Van Helsing conceded. "It's a _lot_ overwhelming. Do you want to talk about it?"

A puff of slightly hysterical laughter caused the hunter's eyebrows to rise. Carlshrugged.

"It's all a bit surreal," he explained to the other man. "I mean, what kind of relatives must I have to cause the _Vatican_ to batten itself down as if for a siege? And what type of person must _I_ be to have to manufacture a...a...friend...just to please those relatives?"

"Ah," the hunter nodded, his own eyes dropping to Carl's restless fingers.

"I..I mmmean," Carl stuttered, and then paused, visibly pulling himself together. "I love my family, Van Helsing. Please don't think otherwise. And please don't think that you have to...to pretend to be a friend simply because Cardinal Jinette..."

"Carl," Van Helsing caught the friar's thin shoulders in a hard grip, shaking them slightly so that the faltering words stopped and the embarrassed blue eyes rose to his. "Since when have you known me to do anything simply for the sake of pleasing Jinette? "

"Oh. Well, yes, you have a point there," Carl conceded as the corners of his mouth tugged upwards slightly.

"As for playing at being your friend, I have no intention of doing that either. I don't have to. I've counted you as a friend...I think my only true friend...for a long time. The fact that your relatives are coming and Jinette wants me to the fore so that they can see our friendship doesn't demean it."

Carl bit his lip as he desperately wished that he could recapture some portion of his usual bravado and self-confidence. Within his lab he was without peer and perfectly sure of that fact. Outside, unfortunately, he wasn't so certain. The man, who now calmly assured him of his regard, was larger than life to Carl and he felt an unaccustomed humbleness come over him that was vastly unwelcome. It left him defenseless when he would have given anything to be assured. It took everything he had, but when he spoke again, though it was so low the hunter had to lean forward to catch it, the words were firm and his tone was calm.

"Thank you for that, Van Helsing. I would be happy to consider you a friend."

"Good." Van Helsing smiled into the blue eyes and was pleased to see an answering smile bloom across Carl's face. "Now, as to what kind of people your relatives are that the Vatican would batten the hatches...actually, I think I'm looking forward to meeting them. They sound like my kind of people."

To that, Carl could only shake his head. In the face of such appalling naivety, he could only stand back and await the inevitable rude awakening.

* * *

The day flew by until at last the awaited hour arrived. Grimly, Jinette met Carl and Van Helsing within the awe-inspiring great vestibule of the Palace. 

"Reports have it that your parents' coach is on time and will arrive any moment now," Jinette informed Carl.

Right on cue, they heard the Vatican Guard that stood outside the great Palace doors come to clattering attention. An instant later the mighty portal began to open with a majestic gravity that would admit the people outside into one of the wonders of the world. The Palace had awed generations of people from all walks of life; its immense dignity and beauty had humbled the pretensions while uplifting the spirits of thousands. As the massive portal opened fully to allow the shining sunlight to enter, an awed voice came plainly to the waiting men.

"Damn! Are those statues of _nekid_ people? I hope they didn't use live models...I always say 'can't churn butter with a toothpick'! Damned shame if that's all we've got to look forward to!"

"Sophie dear, get your mind out of your knickers, time to meet Carl's people!"

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: A new story

**Summary: Apocalypse has come**

**Notes: **Inspiration for a new story can come from many sources. This one came from two: Biblio's wonderful SG1 saga of "Prodigal Son" (a MUST read), and from the fact that I've been lucky to live in a large family where 'outrageous' behavior abounds on a regular basis. The scenes below would not be far fetched in our household where caffeine addiction and an 'earthy' outlook on life are a must!

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback**: Thank you so much for taking the time to leave feedback for this story! Eris86, Toto3, Seadragon68, and Runts Gal, I hope that the "3 Horsemen's" reaction to Van Helsing and their darling friar is as much fun to read as it was to write.

_Special thanks to my muse Archangel Gabriel, the patron saint of the written word._

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**Irresistible Forces 3**

The brilliant sunlight streaming through the open doors of the Palace into the relative gloom of the great Vestibule dazzled the three men within so that, at first, they could see no more of the visitors than vague hazy shapes. Evidently, the same could be said for those outside attempting to see in.

"Damn it! I can't see a darned thing! Don't tell me I've gone blind! Of all the Hell-be-damned luck!"

"Don't be silly, Kayla, you're not blind. Senile perhaps, but not blind."

"Hmph! If I am it's because you drove me to it!" the voice identified as Kayla replied with righteous indignation, followed by a vigorous moist gnashing of obviously toothless gums.

From out of the light, the first figure emerged and with a squeal of delight, immediately launched itself at Carl, hugging him with all the delight of a long lost love and, judging by his wheezing, all the strength of a 20-foot anaconda.

"Carl! Oh I can't believe we're actually here! It's been too long, darling!"

"It's wonderful to see you too, Mother," Carl gasped, but his arms held her with equal fervor as he ducked a face that sported flaming cheeks to place a kiss in the mass of silver hair that lay upon his shoulder.

Van Helsing peered at the woman with interest. Due to her apparent determination to climb into Carl's skin with him there was not overly much of Lady Elizabeth to be seen but occasionally a glimpse afforded itself. She appeared to be close to the same height as her son, though somewhat thin, with beautiful silver hair that was arranged in fluffy curls about her head. From the brief glimpses he could catch of her features, she had a lovely peaches and cream complexion which age had not served to dull. Her face was oval with a patrician nose, high cheekbones, and a generous mouth. Though he could not see them, he suspected her eyes would be as blue as Carl's. She was sensibly dressed in dark travel clothing and, if his nose didn't deceive him, an abundance of some sort of perfume that smelled of cinnamon and baked apples. Her voice was a pleasant alto with the charming intonations of her native England.

He'd been so interested in viewing the woman who had given birth to Carl that he'd temporarily forgotten the other visitors. A bass rasp recalled his attention as another female shape, several inches shorter than Lady Elizabeth, cannoned into Carl.

"Give over Lizzy! I've not seen the boy for as long as you have! Oh Carl! You've grown!"

Carl staggered slightly with the extra weight hanging on him, but he appeared pleased. "Aunt Sophie! I'm glad to see you; you haven't changed a bit..." Carl's delighted exclamations paused for an instant, then resumed in a somewhat dryer tone. "Not one bit. Do you suppose you could take your hand off my arse?"

"Now honey, why would you want to deny an old lady the only thing that gives her joy in life?" The scratchy bass voice was laced with coquettish delight. Van Helsing arched backwards slightly, looking down in time to see Aunt Sophie give her grasp on Carl's buttock a little extra gas. "Mmm, niiiice," Sophie sighed and patted the mound happily.

Aunt Sophie appeared to be of the same age as Elizabeth, though again it was difficult to tell due to her being buried in Carl's chest. The main difference was an incongruous mass of dyed black hair that was caught up in elaborate swirls and dips at the top of her head. Coupling that with a travel costume that seemed to be made up of an abundance of flouncing lace that exuded a cloud of floral scent, it quite clear that Aunt Sophie had finished the obligatory mourning for husband number six and was actively scouting for lucky number seven. In her wriggling embrace of her nephew, Van Helsing caught a glimpse of a round pale face with highly rouged cheeks and dark arched brows. A brief glimpse of surprisingly dark flashing eyes completed the picture of a flirtatious minx who had no intention of bowing to age.

With the eagerness of a reader bound up within a suspenseful novel, Van Helsing looked to the doors for the next character in Carl's life.

The last of Carl's family appeared as a tall balding man with wonderfully blue eyes pushed a wheelchair hosting a tiny crumpled woman into the Vestibule.

Carl's father was tall, at least six feet, with a broad intelligent forehead, dark brows and an alert gaze. His high cheekbones were rounded in a smile as he took in the reunion of his son with the females of the family. A dark frock coat andtight-fitting trousers showed he had retained a youthful figure, and tall shining boots completed Van Helsing's first view.

The oldest member of the clan appeared to be in no way pleased to be ignored. From somewhere within the voluminous mauve travel coat she wore, an ebony cane appeared and was rapped imperiously upon the floor. Grandmother Kayla raised her head majestically to peer about nearsightedly. The first impression Van Helsing had was of immense presence, no doubt fostered by a shining head of white hair beneath which heavy dark eyebrows beetled with displeasure over cornflower blue eyes. Her skin was as rosy and wrinkled as a winter apple and the tiny rosebud lips that she had obviously taken great pains to thickly coat with a vivid red lipstick were now set in a sticky pout of displeasure. The unexpectedly large hand that held the cane thumped it down again.

"Am I not to have my share of the boy's attention?" Kayla demanded querulously. "Lord knows I changed enough of his nappies to now be entitled to a hug at least!"

Reluctantly, the mother and aunt released Carl to his grandmother, who enfolded her beloved boy with every sign of forgiveness for being kept waiting. "Oh Carl, Carl! Give your Nana a great big sloppy kiss!" Kayla smacked her lips eagerly, presenting her pursed mouth in a scarlet pout. Dutifully, Carl gave her a quick peck and then a lengthier hug. Kayla's smile stretched from ear to ear as she closed her eyes and hugged back.

Carl's father satisfied himself with patting his son's shoulder and stroking his blond hair with an expression of such pride and happiness that it made Van Helsing feel uncomfortably like a voyeur.

His discomfort abruptly increased three-fold as a rasping purr in the vicinity of his elbow was instantaneously followed up by a firm goosing pinch to his backside. Honed reflexes enabled him to leap back several feet to confront Carl's mother and aunt, both with large fond smiles on their faces and gleams in their eyes.

"Mmm, mama!" Sophie growled lecherously.

Lady Elizabeth elbowed the other woman as she fluttered her sparkling eyes at the hunter. "Sophie dear, where are your manners? Remember you are a lady—introductions always come before dishonorable intentions. I'm Carl's mother, Lady Elizabeth Thornton. And since you're apparently here to meet us, I'm delighted to suppose that you are a friend of my son's?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you," the hunter replied, though a dubious note crept into his voice that made the ladies positively sparkle. With severe misgivings he took Lady Elizabeth's extended hand, his eyebrow rising as she pulled him closer and clasped his hand between both of hers.

Sophie promptly possessed herself of his other hand, her small pointed fingers stroking his palm as she looked up at him through her lashes.

"Are you _good_ friends with our Carl, then?" she rumbled pleasantly.

"You could say that."

"How wonderful!" Lady Elizabeth enthused. "That makes you practically family. Tell me, dear, what is your name?"

"Van Helsing."

"Hmmm, no, I don't think I'm familiar with that family," Elizabeth murmured, then shrugged. "Of course, we can hardly call you by your sir name. What's your Christian name, darling?"

"Gabriel."

"What a beautiful name! You were named after the Arch Angel, of course."

"I've always loved angel food cake," Sophie confided, leaning in to place her round cheek against his chest.

"Alright, Mother, Sophie, that's enough of that!" Carl called as he straightened up from his grandmother's chair. "You've got all the time in the world to make eyes at Van...Gabriel. In the meantime, allow me to refresh your memories and introduce you to Cardinal Jinette."

Lady Elizabeth immediately turned to the waiting Cardinal, who was watching the proceedings with such a fixed expression he rather gave the impression of being stuffed. Aunt Sophie was slower to respond, taking a few extra seconds to hug Van Helsing's hand to her lacey bosom as she heaved a sigh of regret.

"Duty calls, handsome," she purred with a smile. "Don't let my place get cold, I'll be right back."

Coming up behind his tardy aunt, Carl sternly detached her from the hunter and led her to Jinette. Introductions went noticeably smoother—whether the ladies were better behaved because of Jinette's rank or because he simply wasn't goosing material, Carl wasn't certain.

"Your Grace," he gestured to each relative in turn, "My father Lord Jacob Thornton, my mother Lady Elizabeth, my aunt Lady Sophia and my grandmother Lady Kayla."

"We're very pleased to be extended the courtesy of this visit with our boy," Lord Jacob smiled after the initial pleasantries were over. "I hope that our presence will not place too great a burden upon you."

"Not at all," Jinette assured them with a civil smile. "I hope that your find your apartments comfortable. Carl and Van Helsing can take you to them now—they will be sharing them with you. Later, after you are sufficiently rested, I hope that you will dine with me."

The family's delight at the news that Carl and his friend would be staying with them was clearly evident. With a bow from Jinette, in which he made sure his posterior was well away from Sophie, the Cardinal released them to be taken to their chambers.

Tactfully, Carl took his mother's and aunt's arms firmly in each hand. Lord Jacob fell back to push Kayla's wheelchair but she waved him off with her cane. "I want Carl's friend to push the chair," she informed them

Dutifully, the hunter took his place behind the chair with Carl's father falling in beside him.

"So, Gabriel Van Helsing," Kayla began musingly, her fingers tapping the ebony cane that now lay across her lap. "A beautiful name for a beautiful man. How is it someone like you happens to be in this nest of sparrows?"

The hunter's dark eyebrows ascended as his mouth twitched upward in a resigned, lopsided grimace. Evidently Carl's female relatives were all minxes. At least he now knew what to expect.

"Carl asked me to be here," he said simply.

Kayla's reply was a snort. Dignified, ladylike, but a definite snort. "I'll wager he didn't tell you much about us beforehand," she cackled slyly.

"On the contrary," the hunter said firmly. "He tried to warn me, I just didn't believe that you could be that much of a handful."

Kayla raised a dark eyebrow and drew herself fully upright in her chair. "Hmph. You'd do well to listen to those who know better in the future," she said sagely. "I'm old, but I'm not dead, boy. You should remember that."

"I'll do my best," Van Helsing said dutifully.

"See that you do. Now, this dinner, I hope that it's soon. I'm famished from the journey! What will they be serving?"

"I'm guessing a large order of raw meat," Van Helsing said sternly. At his side, the quiet Lord Jacob burst out laughing.

"That's one to the 'boy', Kayla!" he sniggered.

"_That_ was hardly a shot over the bow," Kayla sneered but her eyes were speculative as she shifted in her seat to peer over her shoulder at Van Helsing. "This visit might be worth the trip after all."

* * *

The family's arrival at and settling into the suite given to them was done in a suspiciously expeditious manner. The only snag came when Sophie demurred at sharing a room with Kayla and instead demanded to share Carl's or Van Helsing's. 

"Oh no you don't, you horrible harridan," Carl replied smartly and catching his Aunt firmly by the shoulders, propelled her into her room. "You're not _sharing_ a room with Kayla; your room is _connected _to hers. That's a big difference and nothing to complain about."

Sophie fluttered her eyelashes up at her nephew over her shoulder. "Can't I have the room that connects with yours? You know I have nightmares in a new place, it would calm me wonderfully to have you come in to comfort me."

"As if you would ever need comforting," Carl said fondly kissed the dark hair. "Nightmares wouldn't have the nerve to come to you, they'd be too afraid."

"That's telling her, Carl," Lady Elizabeth remarked pleasantly as she emerged from her own room.

Meanwhile, Van Helsing had delivered Kayla to her own room and assisted her out of her chair. Elizabeth entered then and set about helping Kayla out of her travel coat as Van Helsing beat a hasty retreat from the powder-scented boudoir. He met with Carl and Lord Jacob in the central sitting room.

Carl was looking a little red and unabashedly rubbed at his buttocks. Evidently, Lady Sophie had managed a final pinch before the friar had been able to make his retreat. Jacob tsked and shook his head.

"You're out of practice, Carl. You've got to be faster than that."

"Maybe a change in wardrobe," Van Helsing suggested. "Like heavy canvas?"

"That's something we haven't tried," Lady Elizabeth commented approvingly as she emerged with a newly puffed and powdered Kayla in tow.

"Amateurs," the elderly Dame Thornton sneered. "She's in her room now, why not nail the door shut?"

"No use, there's a window," Jacob supplied. "Besides, that still leaves you two."

"Less to share," Elizabeth smiled prettily.

"Age before beauty," Kayla beamed.

"Careful dear, I might forget to set the brakes on your go cart."

"Rough play, five point penalty," Jacob chided, shaking a finger at his wife who sniffed at him.

"All's fair in love and war," she informed him loftily and proceeded to seat herself on the large center couch, patting the seats on either side of her. "Now, Carl, Gabriel. Sit down here beside me so I can grill you properly."

Gingerly, the two men settled on the either side of Elizabeth, who promptly took their hands in hers. Smiling at each of them she sighed happily.

"You know, we've it's been quite a long time since we last saw our Carl," she admitted to Van Helsing. "He was younger then, of course, but I think I see other changes in him than just age and the beginnings of middle-aged spread."

"Hereditary insanity?" Carl suggested and his mother laughed and squeezed his hand.

"No dear, though that's a cross you'll have to bear at some point I suppose. Rather, I'm talking about the happiness I see in you. You seem to be so much more settled, more sure of yourself here. I'm so pleased to see it, darling."

Van Helsing looked over the silver head to his friend, a smile coming to his own lips unaware.

"What a pretty picture you three make," Sophie observed as she entered the room and seated herself beside Kayla's wheelchair. She'd brought a tray of tea and biscuits with her which she settled upon the coffee table and then proceeded to serve out with an unconscious elegance. Van Helsing took his own cup and saucer somewhat awkwardly, being able to count on one hand the number of times he'd received the beverage in such a setting before.

Carl hid his smirk at the hunter's discomfort with a hasty sip. Elizabeth sent him a reproving eyebrow before turning to Van Helsing with a smile.

"Now Gabriel, you must tell us how you know our Carl. How did you meet?"

With relief, the hunter set the dainty cup and saucer down on the table before complying with his hostess' request.

"I first met Carl in his lab. Or what was left of it. He'd invented some sort of bug repellent which he proceeded to use to blow up everything around him. I remember there was quite a lot of smoke and he stumbled out of it saying something about not needing to spray for woodworm now."

"Hah ha, Van Helsing," Carl interrupted. "You know very well we met in the gardens. And I was trying out a new insecticide for slugs that wasn't working very well. You helpfully pointed out an alternative means to the same end. In fact you demonstrated the idea, stepping on and squashing several into disgusting goo that I had to then clean up."

The hunter shrugged. "It worked."

"It was disgusting," Carl reiterated firmly. "You spent the rest of the afternoon, following me about, offering other helpful suggestions and generally getting in the way."

"Sounds like you two hit it off right away," Jacob observed quietly with a grin for his huffing son who blinked thoughtfully at him before looking at the hunter.

"I...suppose we did," Carl admitted, surprised.

"And you've been friends ever since," Elizabeth finished. "It's a wonderful story, dear, though I can't blame your Gabriel for stepping on the things. They really are revolting."

"So you met Carl in the gardens," Sophie interjected. "How did you happen to be there?"

Van Helsing noted the keen interest in the assembled Thorntons. Despite the humor of his and Carl's story, they had not lost track of the initial question. He was beginning to understand Jinette's warnings about genius sons not often having foolish parents.

"I was donating some meat to the kitchens," he said in an offhand manner. "I'm a hunter by profession."

"He's a man of independent means, and he's shared his good luck in the fields with us on several occasions," Carl said quickly, with a smile.

"Sounds dangerous," Sophie observed with a gleam in her eye that made Carl shift uneasily in his seat and brought a smile to Van Helsing's stern mouth.

"It can be, on occasion," Van Helsing admitted easily.

"No doubt Carl's helpful to you," Kayla murmured into her tea. "Him being an inventor and handy, maybe he helps you keep your weapons sharp...or he might even be able to make something for you? Something you don't find every day?"

"Er, isn't it about time for dinner?" the flustered inventor asked breathlessly.

"Mmm," Elizabeth agreed, absently patting the hands she still held. "You're right dear. There's plenty of time to get to know one another better later. Why don't we join that nice Cardinal Jinette, then? I'm looking forward to coming to know him better, as well.

With that, the party paired off. Elizabeth took her husband's arm, Van Helsing volunteered to push Kayla's chair with alacrity which left Carl with Sophie who simpered charmingly at him. Two by two, they left the luxurious suite in grand style.

"Sophie, there's no gold in those hills!"

"Never hurts to dig a little deeper dear, just to be sure."

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: A new story

**Summary: The first day is done--Deo Gratius!**

**_Notes: I've been very lucky to have inspiration come from two sources that I had not expected and I am extremely grateful for it. My thanks to Toto3 and Chibi-Kaz for your questions, musings, and suggestions. They are an invaluable luxury that serve to make this story what it is._**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited); some violent concepts though not graphic

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback**: Thank you so much for taking the time to leave feedback for this story! Eris86, Toto3, Seadragon68, and Chibi Kaz, I hope that this new chapter gives you a chuckle!

_Special thanks to my muse Archangel Gabriel, the patron saint of the written word._

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**Irresistible Forces 4**

"My God! I may never move again!" Carl moaned as he slouched further into the seat of the wing-backed chair in Van Helsing's palatial room.

"Ate too much?" the hunter asked idly, and then grinned at Carl's red face. "Or is it Sophie?"

"The woman's insatiable!" Carl muttered indignantly. "If I wasn't already a friar, I think she'd _drive_ me into a religious life. Women shouldn't be that aggressive…it's not natural!"

"Hmph. The black widow eats her mate. So does the preying mantis."

"I'm begging you…don't mention _anything_ about eating mates in the same room as Sophie," Carl shivered, rubbing his arms hard through the thin sackcloth robe. "She'd take it completely, disgustingly wrong. It's bad enough she's putting them into the ground in an indecent haste, they'd be dropping like flies if she started doing that!"

Van Helsing closed his eyes, hiding his smile behind his hand. He was sprawled boneless in the twin to Carl's chair, his long legs stretched out with ankles crossed. He had his elbows propped on the chair arms with his chin resting in one hand, and he was very comfortable. He'd enjoyed the evening from the safe vantage of being on the end of the table, with Jacob on one hand and Kayla on the other. He had been pleased to find both Thorntons engrossing conversationalists.

Across from him, poor Carl had been seated between his mother and his aunt, the former had absentmindedly insisted on tucking his napkin into his lap, smoothing his hair, even wiping his mouth. On the other hand, Sophie had regularly squeezed and pinched the friar black and blue while smiling angelically at the rest of the table. They'd been able to time Sophie's incursions by the friar's assorted bleats, 'Eep's', choking noises, and half-startled leaps from his chair. His last leap had been a little off, causing him to spill his wine down the front of his robe. The trapped look upon the friar's face as he was pulled back into his chair to allow his aunt and mother to dab him dry had made Van Helsing choke on his own wine. Jacob had politely patted him on the back, but it was Kayla's taking advantage of her first clear shot at deeper territory that had cleared his windpipe dramatically.

"Nice!" had been her pleasantly purred opinion in the face of his dark glare.

After the meal, they had moved into a large, beautifully appointed parlor for their coffee. Van Helsing had expected more of the same shenanigans, but he'd been surprised to see the three "horsemen" behave themselves with the most exquisite good manners. Sophie held Carl's hand as she smiled up into his eyes with a look of such fondness and pride that it was easy to forgive her earlier behavior.

They'd returned to their apartments later than expected and the Thorntons, tired out after their long journey, bid the hunter and the friar a reluctant goodnight. Both Lady and Lord Thornton had hugged and kissed their boy. Sophie had stroked his cheek and Kayla had received her hug. It was a soft, sleepy leave taking that stirred Van Helsing curiously. He had no memory of such family moments in his past; he found watching them now both strangely comforting and oddly sad.

Carl shrugged as the last door closed, leaving them alone in the dark lounge; he had a foolish, fond smile on his face which he made no effort to hide. His good humor had continued until he sat down on the firm seat of the wing backed chair and moaned as he hastily adjusted his position.

They sat now, silently companionable, watching the last of the fire in the grate die down to shimmering scarlet embers. There was a nip in the air that made the warmth pleasant and neither man felt any inclination to say 'good night'. Moments passed until the small clock on the hearth mantle chimed the stroke of midnight and the friar stirred reluctantly.

"I suppose I should be going to bed," he murmured, then yawned cavernously. "Excuse me," he smiled. "I really am tired."

"Not surprising. Are you going to need a warm compress for your backside?"

"Hah hah, Van Helsing. I must remember to laugh when it's your turn with Sophie tomorrow."

With a grunt of effort, Carl levered himself out of his chair to slowly stand upright. He smoothed down his robe, wincing at the still damp wine stain gracing most of his lap. "Brother Felcher won't be pleased about that," he sighed.

"Why not? He can give you the robe he made for me."

"I hardly think that's likely. After all, I'm not a six foot plus, manly hunter with the body of a Greek god."

Van Helsing's spluttered disbelief put a large smile on Carl's face and made his hasty departure from the warm room much easier to bear.

Minutes later, both men were settled in their respective beds looking up at the ceilings. Their rooms were side-by-side, on the opposite end of the lounge from the family's. As they lay in the quiet unfamiliar beds amidst so much disconcerting opulence, it seemed natural when they both spoke quietly at the same time.

"Carl?"

"Van Helsing?"

Van Helsing smiled as he rolled over between the whispering white linens to face the door, unaware that Carl had done the same.

"You're finding it hard to sleep too?"

"Oddly enough," Carl sighed, then chuckled. "I've dreamt so often of sneaking down to this wing and spending a night in one of these beds. Just once. Now I'm here…and I miss my old lumpy prickly horsehair bed. That seems a little odd."

The hunter chuckled. "No, Carl, not odd, really. They'll make a monk of you yet, one of these days."

A loud obscene snort contested the hunter's assertion vehemently. "I think they have a better chance of inducting Sophie," Carl admitted. "Would it shock you if I told you that I'm not, strictly speaking, religious material? Don't get me wrong—I believe in and will obey God's precepts, always. I love God. It's just…."

"The spirit's willing?" Van Helsing suggested with a smile as he watched his fingers smooth over the linen sheets before shifting to snuggle deeper into his pillow.

"Something like that," Carl admitted as he rose up to plump one elbow on the pillow, cradling his thoughtful cheek in warm palm. "I think…it would be very easy to remain just a friar for the rest of my days. Is that terrible?"

"No. Not terrible, Carl. First and foremost, you're an inventor. You've long ago proved yourself in that area. The fact that you also chose to be a man of God is between you and Him. I think He'll appreciate your efforts in both pursuits, to whatever lengths you decide to take them."

"Mm. What about you?"

"I don't think God expects me to be a holy man or an inventor."

"You know what I mean," Carl admonished firmly. "In Transylvania, you found out that you could love…. You don't have to remain alone, Gabriel."

Van Helsing smiled at the use of his first name—in all the time that he had known the friar and for all the affection the friar had shown him, he had never used the hunter's Christian name before in their private conversations. His voice was noticeably softer when he replied. "I'm not alone, Carl."

"I meant…."

"I know. This is enough, for now."

They were quiet then, for some time, until Carl's sleepy voice drifted in to the hunter. "I...think I'm going to sleep now. Good night, Gabriel."

"Good night, Carl. Sweet dreams."

* * *

Lady Elizabeth smiled as she softly closed the door to her room. Her husband's quiet chuckle reached her ears as she climbed the two-step stool to get back into the tall bed and she slapped smartly at the dim curve of his hip beneath the goose down comforter. 

"Satisfied, then?" Lord Jacob asked with indulgent good humor.

Elizabeth sniffed disapprovingly, but she allowed herself to be pulled into her husband's warm arms without demur. "Yes. I'm satisfied."

"Do you think they know that we know?"

In the darkness, Elizabeth's eyes sparkled as she shook her head firmly. "Not a clue. I'd be insulted at their low estimation of us, if they weren't obviously trying to protect us by lying."

"Hmph. So you agree Van Helsing is a good man, then?"

"Yes." Elizabeth's firm answer held no equivocation at all. "I know what they say about him…those awful wanted posters. But if he were the man they say, I don't think he'd have been able to look us in the eye when he admitted who he is. And the man I heard talking with Carl just now has a kindness in him that could never do those things he's accused of. It's as we discussed before coming. They're both up to something…what they do here isn't just tending gardens and praying."

"Mmm, well you're usually right…aagh! Alright! Always! Always right!" Jacob hastily amended as he ruefully rubbed the pinch mark on his ribs. "I pity them both if they think they're going to pull the wool over your eyes."

Elizabeth purred with pleasure as she settled into the warmth, allowing sleep to tug at her. "I don't know," she murmured. "Wool can be made into a lovely warm blanket if handled properly. I've no quarrel with being swaddled…just so long as I know it's being done…and why."

"Yes dear," Jacob replied obediently, but he kissed his wife's forehead with pride as well as love and settled down with her with the same prayer in his heart that he breathed to God each night, "Please God, let me wake up tomorrow with this wonderful woman safe and well…and as feisty as always."

* * *

Carl was awakened to unusual warmth that caressed his face—he opened his eyes, squinting into the slanting rays of the sun that came through the windows he had forgotten to curtain the previous night. With a grunt, he rolled over, bouncing slightly on the thick down-filled pad that served as his mattress. Sybaritically, he stretched out beneath the cool smooth sheets and wiggled his toes as he arched his back. It felt wonderful. He wore a nightcap, nightshirt and leggings and the sensation of the linen on his bare toes was just enough to feel sinfully decadent. Looking at the sun's rays sliding over the opposite wall, it occurred to him that normally, unless he had worked through the night, he'd have been up hours before this. The difference a little extra time made to his outlook on the day was positively breathtaking. 

A knock at his door prompted him to roll back over to face it. "Come in."

The tall white panel creaked open to admit Sophie's smiling face and hopeful eyes. With a sigh and a finger raised in silent stern warning, Carl scooted back in the bed, lifting the covers. Not needing a second invitation, Sophie flew into the open spot, snuggling into it and Carl with pleasure. Once she was arranged upon his chest to her liking, she patted his shoulder softly.

"How's your bottom?"

"Sore. If you're going to continue to pinch, I'm going to insist on short fingernails."

"Hmph. You drive a hard bargain. Let me think about it."

"Take your time. Just remember, no clippie, no pinchie."

Sophie's soft lady-like snort brought a smile to Carl's mouth and he hugged her gently. "Did you sleep well?"

"After a while," Sophie temporized, her mind on the quiet conversation she had overheard the previous night. "And you? All this folderol isn't exactly what you've been used to for the last five years, is it?"

"No," Carl admitted with a sigh. "But I think I've gotten used to doing without the pampering. I won't miss it when I return to my usual quarters."

"Are you sure, Carl? You know that you can always come home. You could invent there as easily as here, couldn't you?"

"Yes, I could. But darling, it's not just the inventing, is it? I'm here, at the Vatican, as a friar, for a reason."

"Hmph. What a waste," Sophie grumped, but her conciliatory pat of Carl's shoulder reassured him. "So, since we aren't to go back together, we'll have to catch up on our usual gossip time as best we can," she said firmly. "Who'll start?"

"You. I'm a friar, we don't' have gossip that would interest outsiders."

"I can well believe that!" Sophie snorted. "You'll have to trade something else in its place, then."

"**…**Such as?"

Sophie sneered at his hesitant caution. "Faint heart, Carl! Now, in place of gossip, I want to hear all about your friend."

"Wha…? You mean Van Helsing? You've already heard about him. He told you himself…."

"Carl, I wasn't born yesterday, nor in a woodpile. A man who looks like that has to have _some_ history. He's not married—was he ever?"

"Oh God, I can't believe I'm lying here with you talking about Van Helsing," Carl grumped, rolling his eyes offensively. "Why don't you go crawl into bed with Gabriel and ask him yourself?"

"Mmm," Sophie purred, her little toes scratching against Carl's ankle. "I'll bet he sleeps in the nude. Yum!"

"You disgusting old baggage!" Carl shoved away enough to be able to peer into Sophie's twinkling dark eyes. "Were you always this much of a hussy? Or has extreme old age addled your good sense?"

Sophie pouted up at him, her eyelids drooping so that she could look at him through her lashes with a propitiating air. "But Carl, _you'll_ always be my best boy."

"Heaven forbid!" Carl shuddered, but he allowed her to settle on his shoulder again. They were silent for some time; then,

"It wouldn't surprise me if he'd been unlucky in love. He has a tragic air about him, don't you think?"

Carl's mobile mouth skewed as his brows drew down in a frown. "I suppose. His life hasn't been easy, certainly."

"No doubt it's been lonely."

"I...suppose so."

"You never asked?"

"Well, no. It's not the sort of thing one fellow can ask another, is it?"

"No, I suppose you're right," Sophie soothed, her face hidden against Carl's shoulder was thoughtful. "Still, it helps that you're always about. I imagine you're practically inseparable…except when he's away, on one of his hunting expeditions."

"Usually," Carl agreed. "It depends on what's needed, you know."

"Of course, of course. No sooner in than back out again. Still, thank goodness he has you. You keep him safe."

"I try." Carl's rueful admission tapered off as he blinked, then stirred to look down suspiciously at his aunt. "Are you trying to pump me for information? Because it won't work, you know!"

Sophie nodded vigorously. "Of course, Carl. You're too smart for that, I know. Just tell me one thing? Does he have an innie or an outtie?"

"A _what_? Why would you want to know that?"

Sophie smirked as she patted him with offensive pity. "Because, dear, you can't drink champagne out of an overturned cup."

This time, Carl shoved away enough to fall completely out of the bed. As Sophie's dark head and laughing face appeared at the bed's edge looking down at him, he fixed her with a horrific glare, then fell back onto the floor with a thump and a sigh as her peals of laughter rang out loudly.

* * *

Van Helsing emerged from his room, carrying his vest and boots. He had had an early training session planned but had somehow managed to sleep through the appointed time. He wasn't sure if the family was up yet; he hoped to make a quiet escape so that he could find some place to run through his training without observers. His muscles were starting to stiffen with inactivity and he was looking forward to working up a good sweat. 

As he tiptoed past an open doorway, his progress was halted by a reedy voice.

"A big man shouldn't try to be sneaky, dear. It doesn't work, makes you look like you're creepin' to or from someone's bed."

Against his will, a dark eyebrow rose as he back pedaled to the open door to fix the oldest Thornton with a stern reproving glare.

"And if I was?"

Kayla's creaking laughter brought a smile to Van Helsing's normally grim mouth. He'd been smiling quite a bit these days and was finding that he liked it. She was sitting up in her tall bed, dressed demurely in a lacy lavender nightgown with wisp of lace serving as a nightcap. Judging by the books spread about her, she had been up for some time.

"Come on in, don't stand peering in. At my time of life, it's an honor rather than a disgrace to have a man in my room."

Van Helsing entered with a feeling of unaccustomed gaucherie. He was unfamiliar with situations like this, having lamentably been in all too few of them. As Kayla's cocked finger beckoned him on, he approached the bed as he would a dangerous monster. His hazel gaze dropped from her merry one to fall with some surprise upon the open books.

"Not exactly light reading," he murmured, flipping the pages of one text that displayed lurid woodcuts of men who were apparently undergoing horrific transformations into beasts. Looking into their inked staring eyes, he could empathize with their agonies.

Kayla shrugged as she used one finger to delicately push silver-framed glasses up her nose. "It's an interest of mine. The old are often drawn to the question of what to expect on the other side."

"And you think _this_ is what awaits you? I find that hard to believe."

"No," Kayla admitted with a becomingly shy smile. "I hope I'll find something better waiting for me when my time comes. But the question is still there. And I find the need to explore the nature of evil. Maybe to prove to myself my life hasn't been so bad."

Van Helsing nodded, not attempting to dissuade the elderly lady from the course that gave her comfort. He found her choice of studies surprising and not a little suspicious, but the blue gaze fixed on him held no slyness in it, only a friendly desire to share.

"You're not going to argue with me? Reprove me?" she asked, blue eyes twinkling at him.

"No. We each do what we must to live with what we are and what we've done. I'm not in any position to judge your sins."

"You talk as if you had a few sins of your own. Hard to carry are they?"

The hunter frowned a little, but he nodded. "They can be, at times."

Kayla's thin hand reached out to pat his hand, still resting on the open-faced book. "I think that you, too, will be pleasantly surprised when you finally pass from this world. From what you've said, I gather you've suffered a great deal to make recompense. I'm glad that Carl is here to help you."

Van Helsing's fingers twined with the slender cold fingers on his and was unexpectedly touched when they closed about his in a firm grip. He forgot about the conversation and even the pages of horror spread out about them as he stroked warmth into Kayla's fingers and she smiled at him.

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: A new story

**Summary:The Three Horsemen go to work**

**Notes: I wanted to add another note to the people who have taken the time to review my stories, often writing a review for each chapter. You have no idea how much I enjoy reading your words, and how they affect what I write. Plots have risen and toppled as I've read what you've written. This story is actually yours as I'm sure it would be nothing like what it is without your input. Thank you for sharing the fun with me!**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited); some violent concepts though not graphic

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback**: I'm sorry it took me so long to write this new chapter! I've been caught up in Brother Wolf, but I promise I'll spend this weekend working on this story. I hope to have a new chapter for this story by the end of Sunday. This chapter is dedicated to: Mannariel, GlasTriskellion, SeaDragon68, and Toto3 because after reading your kind words, I _had_ to come up with something that would give you a chuckle. Stay tuned for Sophie and more from Brother Felcher, both of whom warranted chapter of their own! (PS, if you have specific questions, I've taken to answering them in my profile—hopefully I won't get into trouble for that.)

_Special thanks to my muse Archangel Gabriel, the patron saint of the written word._

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* * *

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**Irresistible Forces 5**

Van Helsing palmed away the sheen of sweat from his forehead and walked slowly across the training yard to the well, situated to one side. It took some doing to reach his destination--all around him, practice targets lay in a shambles, victims of the intensive training session he'd undergone. He had spent hours fighting his way through the most insidious hard-hitting traps the Order could devise, and the reprieve he enjoyed now was short lived. His trainer today was the Tibetan monk Ibais, and he wouldn't let up until nightfall. He was setting up the aerial targets at the moment, which allowed the over-heated hunter a chance to relax and catch his breath.

Upon reaching the well, Van Helsing didn't bother with the metal dipper that hung invitingly from the well's side; instead, he pulled up the bucket from the coldest depths of the well. With a sigh, Van Helsing upended his bucket, pouring the cold liquid over his head and naked shoulders. He lifted his face and allowed his mouth to catch the stream, gulping some down, allowing the rest to spill over his chin, neck and chest.

"_Van Helsing_!"

The hunter checked and choked on the stream of water, spewing a quantity out over the ground and then hacking roughly as he tried to clear his windpipe.

Carl emerged into sight, dodging the fallen targets and leaping with robes fluttering over the others. He slid up to the hunter gasping for breath, his hand catching and holding Van Helsing's bicep as he bent double and wheezed.

Neither man spoke for several seconds as they tried to catch their breath; when he was able to breath without gurgling, the hunter shook the friar's hand off his arm.

"Are you trying to kill me?" he demanded of the still-gasping friar. "What _is_ it, Carl?"

The friar was unable to speak, but the reproachful look he gave the hunter made Van Helsing sigh and helpfully whack the smaller man on the back. Rather than being grateful, the friar snarled at the hunter and shoved him away before straightening and rubbing at his beleaguered back.

"I'm not…_choking_…to death," he wheezed painfully. "You don't have to beat me for being out of breath!"

"How about on general principles, then?" Van Helsing suggested as he leaned down to pick up the dropped bucket and set it safely on the well edge. "You're lucky I was taking a break. If you had come through the course that way when I was training, I'd have taken you for a banshee and shot you."

"Hah, hah. Why are you out here, anyway?"

The hunter's dark brows rose as he leaned down to peer into Carl's face closely. "I think not being able to breath has damaged your brain, Carl. What does it look like I'm doing out here?"

Carl's explosive huff of breath made his bangs dance about his face as his two blue eyes pinned the hunter with an exasperated glare. "I _mean_, what are you doing out where my mother and her two cronies can see you training?"

Van Helsing shrugged, unconcerned. "I left your family happily preparing for a tour with Jinette. I doubt the training grounds are one of the scenic wonders on the agenda." The hunter's sarcastic wit was cut short as Carl slapped his forehead with his palm and uttered a heartfelt groan. "Carl? What's the matter with you?"

"My God," Carl muttered, "Has nothing I've told you about my family sunk in yet? My relatives, for your information, are now scattered to the four winds because I couldn't keep track of them by myself. They aren't on any tour with Cardinal Jinette—they're loose!"

"'Loose', Carl? Isn't that a bit extreme?"

With a snarl, Carl caught Van Helsing's forearm firmly in both hands and proceeded to drag the protesting man after him, back through the hidden door into the Palace.

* * *

Lady Elizabeth smiled determinedly at the sour-faced man behind the counter as she approached, her silver brows rising somewhat as he barely noted her presence. Her gaze sharpened as she watched him, noting the creases about his down-turned mouth that bespoke a habitually sullen disposition. 

"Good morning," she said pleasantly.

"Mmph,"

"I don't believe we've met. I'm Lady Elizabeth Thornton, Carl's mother. And you are?"

The monk's dark gaze flickered somewhat at her introduction, but his demeanor was still that of a man who had unsuspectingly taken a large bite of a very sour lemon.

"I'm Brother Felcher," he said tersely, and then pointedly turned his back.

Elizabeth mentally rolled up her sleeves as she watched the man set about tidying the shelves behind him. There was little doubt that Brother Felcher was a desperately unhappy man, though what he would have to be unhappy about in such a beautiful place was beyond her. Still, she had some experience in drawing people out, and something told her Brother Felcher would have some very interesting stories to tell. She therefore remained determinedly by the counter, watching him tidy and fold and generally carry on as if she weren't there. She might have believed he had genuinely forgotten about her presence if his eyes hadn't kept swiveling ever so slightly to the side to check up on her.

Despite the monk's determined avoidance, Elizabeth was finding his actions most illuminating—she noted that of all the items the good Brother fidgeted with, his hands returned most often to a black garment set to the side of the other things. Her eyes narrowed as she peered at the item, noting that, though it appeared to be only a monk's robe, it had been sewn with care and the material had a beautiful weave and texture to it. Watching Brother Felcher's hands stroke and pet the robe brought a small smile to Elizabeth's face as she leaned forward, over the counter.

"That's a beautiful robe," she commented appreciatively. "I've been in many of the best shops in London and not seen workmanship as fine as that."

The change in Brother Felcher was astonishing. With Elizabeth's words, his hunched back straightened and when he turned to look at her in surprise, she could see the pleased eagerness in his grey eyes.

"Truly?" he breathed, forgetting himself so far as to lean on his counter, forcing her to straighten to avoid coming nose to nose with him.

"Oh yes, indeed," she assured him with a pleasant smile. "Why, anyone could see that robe is something special. And the fabric is truly breathtaking!"

The good Brother's eyes were now luminous as they gazed up at Elizabeth, his hands rose to his chest and knotted anxiously as he smiled and bowed. "I'm so pleased to hear that! I so rarely get out to see what's being done now! I was afraid that perhaps I might have lost my touch..."

"_You_ made that robe? My good man! You have a wonderful talent!"

Felcher's snuffle of pleasure widened Elizabeth's smile; she did love to see people happy. "Would it be too much to ask to be allowed to inspect it more closely?" she asked with just the right amount of pleasure and reticence in her tone. Felcher immediately turned and picked up the robe, cradling it in his arms as he turned back to slide it reverently onto the counter top.

Elizabeth sighed with true appreciation as she ran her fingers over the beautiful rich fabric. "Such exquisite material! And such tiny perfect stitches! I wish I had a seamstress with your talent, Brother Felcher, I'd be the best dressed woman in London! Tell me how you came to make such a beautiful garment? It's a monk's robe, isn't it? There's certainly no lack of monks about, why is it sitting on a shelf when it should be being worn with pride?"

Felcher sighed as he stroked the robe. "I made it with someone specifically in mind—I poured my soul into every stitch, every cut. I measured it exactly and then remeasured. It was to be my masterpiece! And he turned it down! Wouldn't even look at it!"

"My God! The man must be a fool, or a philistine! To turn his nose up at such a lovely thing! Who was it?"

"Van Helsing," Felcher sighed again, then abruptly bit his lip as his eyes rose, horrified, to Elizabeth's.

She appeared not to notice his distress, however. In fact, she seemed to find nothing odd at all in a monk creating a monk's robe to be worn by a hunter. If Brother Felcher's mind worked that way, he might have supposed Lady Elizabeth assumed that creating monastic robes to be worn by big strapping hunters was an especial kink of his that was to be understood and overlooked as graciously as possible. Rather like one overlooks the occasional tendency of an elderly uncle to slip into a red silk corset and insist on being called Big Bang Bertha. But, as his mind most definitely could **_not_** conceive, even at gunpoint, of that sort of kink in connection with himself, he could only watch in wonder as she seemed to accept the notion as perfectly natural.

"Well, I'm well acquainted with Gabriel," she said firmly. "And I don't think he realized how important it was to you to see him in this! Of _course_, after all your hard work, you wanted to see it on him. And he refused point blank?"

"Er...well... I..."

Elizabeth smiled as she patted his clasped hands. "I'm _certain_ he didn't realize how important it was to you. It just needs to be explained properly. Would you like my help?"

Felcher's pale eyes widened and his fingers twisted together like snakes in a sack as he regarded the woman standing before him offering everything his very soul craved. A small voice within was shouting frantic prayers of exorcism but Brother Felcher's very nature rose up and stifled the little voice. He heard himself say,

"I...oh **_yes_**! If it's not too much trouble...if you only _knew_!"

"Why you poor man," Elizabeth tsked and patted him again with a sympathetic smile. "Of course it's not too much trouble! Such a small thing to give so much happiness can't be too much to ask. Come along, let's find Gabriel. I'm certain he'll be more than pleased once we've explained it to him."

With gentle but insistent coaxing, she urged the Brother out from behind his counter. With the robe clutched to his bosom, he followed Lady Elizabeth as she set out in search of the hunter.

* * *

Kayla hummed to herself as she straightened and tidied first Van Helsing's and then Carl's rooms, tsking to herself at the piles of dirty clothing left on the floor and the rumpled states of the beds. She'd managed to avoid Cardinal Jinette's little excursion by the simple expedient of being 'ill-disposed' when he called for her. In the end, the Cardinal had had to make due with just Lord Jacob, as both Elizabeth and Sophie were suspiciously absent. She'd enjoyed watching the worry blossom in the Cardinal's grey eyes, not from a mean spirit but rather with the enjoyment a particularly fine move in a game of skill affords one. She'd since spent her time alone puttering pleasurably about. She had spent the last half hour in Van Helsing's chamber and was now clearing Carl's. 

"Little boys," she shook her head and groaned as she leaned over her cane to pick up the clothing left by Carl at the foot of the bed. Shaking out the crumpled brown robe, she wrinkled her nose at its worn hem and frayed sleeves. Carefully, she laid it out on the tidied bed to examine it more closely. Carl was hard on his clothing, there was no doubt of that. The scratchy cloth was riddled with small stained holes that she scratched at and raised her eyebrows over.

"Acid? Now what would he be doing with acid? And this...is that blood? I don't care for the look of that! And this...this black smudge..."

Kayla peered and prodded at it without success until she gingerly took a sniff at it.

"I'll be damned!" she marveled as she now realized the stain smelled of gunpowder. "What's he been doing? Acid, blood, gunpowder..."

With determination, Kayla turned to Van Helsing's clothing, grunting as she shook out his sweater and then the dark trousers with one hand as she leaned on her ebony cane with the other. The first thing she noted was that the sweater had been reworked-judging by the roughness of the weave several times. Her long fingers smoothed over the knobs and bumps, tracing the size and location of the original tears, and her dark eyebrows dropped as she realized every one of them were in some vulnerable spot of a man's body.

"Not very careful, are you, Gabriel?" she muttered. "Either the venison in Italy is a lot meaner critter than your average deer, or you're dealing with very nasty beasties on a regular basis. What kind of animal does this to a man? And why would you be in such a situation? And...if I put this together with Carl's robe..."

Kayla bit her bottom lip thoughtfully before turning to the last item—Van Helsing's vest. It proved to be equally as worn in a very worrisome way. Then her fingers slipped into the watch pocket. She frowned as she pulled out the chain tucked into the slitted pocket, her mouth dropping open as each link of the chain slid out to expose another religious sigil.

"What in the world?"

She counted five in all, all of them diametrically opposed to one another in matters of belief and practice. It was possible, of course, that the man was simply superstitious and inclined to carry any amulet that would promise some sort of protection—considering the state of his clothing, that was certainly a sane consideration. But after having spent time with Van Helsing, she was finding that difficult to believe. His careful, cautious manner didn't suggest the sort of personality that would clutch at amulets, praying feverishly to any deity who would listen. Kayla's red-stained lips pursed in a pout of thought as she carefully fitted the chain back into its snug pocket.

She then folded the clothing carefully, and left them on each man's bed. Let them make of that what they would, she didn't mind the prospect of letting them sweat over it a little.

In the meantime, it was time for her nap. She had quite a lot to think about and she wanted her thoughts to be straight in her head before she got together with Elizabeth and Sophie.

* * *

Sophie smiled and batted her dark eyes at the burly smith as he kept slipping sidelong glances at her while he shaped a horseshoe upon his anvil. His wonderful, big, heavy hammer struck the shoe with such assurity, finding the perfect spot each time to make the metal sing. Sophie shivered, despite the heat of the day and the forge, and wriggled upon her seat on the well's edge. 

Abraham, a somewhat unexpected name for a Catholic monk, had been kind enough to acquiesce to her request to watch him work. She'd spent an enjoyable morning chatting with him and watching him sweat over his work and her regard. His rippling muscles held her fascinated attention and she'd been obliged to take several sips of water from the dipperful that he had kindly procured for her from the well.

Sophie had a soft spot for big, sweating men with massive bulging muscles that rippled with their movements. She liked to run her hands over those muscles, to feel them jump and glide beneath her palms as she turned their owners into blinking blushing boys with a few perfectly chosen words and a lot of eye batting.

She'd felt she was losing her touch in her efforts with Carl and Van Helsing, though she'd enjoyed the chase very much indeed; her morning with Abraham had served to completely renew her confidence in herself. She did _love_ to see a big man squirm.

As Abraham cooled the shoe in a large wooden trough of water, Sophie smiled with pleasure as once again the smith's eyes slid in her direction, to see if she was still as impressed with the precision of his work as she had been an hour before. He needn't have worried; she was in a mood to be _most_ impressed by just about anything Abraham was prepared to do.

"You have such marvelous skill!" she smiled. "It's amazing to watch you work!"

Abraham grunted, shrugging his massive shoulders over her enthusiasm of such an ignoble thing as working a horseshoe, but his muscles seemed to bulge a little larger, and his chest flexed more broadly as he examined the shoe, turning so Sophie could get a good head-on view of his physique.

"Absolutely marvelous," she rasped as her little toes curled in her high heeled red shoes. She'd worn The Red Dress today, specifically, because it always had such a wonderful effect. She didn't have to work half as hard to get what she wanted when she wore the lacey, high collared, formfitting red dress. Elizabeth would have been scandalized to see her in red while visiting a monastery; Sophie would have argued that there was no place better suited--it was like shooting fish in a barrel.

She batted her eyes at Abraham again. "I've so enjoyed watching your work. To see a man with your skill at his craft is almost a religious experience. I suppose horseshoes _are_ beneath your talents, though."

"Hmph. You'd be right!" Abraham asserted with a sneer. "It's a waste of my day!"

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Sophie purred, her little hands rising to clasp over her generous bosom. "Of course it is! A big strong man like you, with your wonderful hands and keen eyes...you should create swords and lances for kings!"

Abraham's 'keen' eyes lit with a fire almost rivaling the one in his forge as his chest expanded to nearly twice its previous size.

"You have the hands of a master," Sophie enthused, "a true craftsman, like the smiths of Arthur's days, who created mighty blades like Excalibur!" Strictly speaking, Sophie knew that history would have a fit over her ascribing the mystical blade Excalibur to a blacksmith's skills, but she felt on safe ground in this particular instance.

Abraham's eyes grew large and round as the sheer wide-eyed braggadocio of this statement took even his breath away.

"Such a pity, that all they allow you to do here is horseshoes," Sophie sighed. And batted her eyes.

Pride ran deep and strong within the master smith, it was as obdurate as the anvil he shaped his dreams upon and as hot as the forge's fires that burned away the impure leaving only the finest material in its wake. As he took in the idea that this charming woman saw him as only a farrier, the dam broke with the force of a volcano.

"_All they allow me to do?_ I'll have you know that my hammer has shaped swords of silver! Excalibur? I've made swords that sing like a woman at the touch of a hand! Whose balance is so fine they can be set down upon the tip and left there for a hundred years, and they will never fall! My blades have served to protect the weak and innocent for over forty years!"

"Oh my!" Sophie breathed and clapped her hands in wonder. "How marvelous!"

Abraham tossed his head with righteous pride. Horseshoes indeed!

* * *

Van Helsing entered the apartments behind Carl, his footsteps lagged somewhat because they had only just finished searching what felt like the entire Palace and most of the See. On foot. Oddly enough, in their exhaustive search, it had never occurred to either of them to check the apartments given to the family until that moment. This was proving to be a sore point with the hunter, who fairly or not, believed that Carl really _should_ have considered this before he'd come and rousted his friend to drag him all over the countryside. Carl was a genius, for God's sake, it wasn't that much of a stretch! 

Carl hurried into the main lounge calling his family and almost swooned with relief as cheerful voices answered him.

Kayla emerged from her room leaning lightly upon her cane; she looked well rested and rosy after her nap and she greeted Carl and Van Helsing with a firm hug that lasted a good deal longer than her usual.

"Carl, darling, come here," she said, smiling sweetly, as she moved to a beautifully cushioned straight back chair and sat down.

Blinking unsurely, and still looking about for the owners of the other voices he'd heard, Carl approached to stand beside the chair.

Kayla looked up at her tall handsome grandson and smiled with love as she took his hand and tugged as she patted her thin knees.

"Sit down here, Carl."

The look of befuddlement on the friar's face ebbed away to be replaced with a crimson blush that should have raised the room's temperature by several degrees. Kayla's smile, if possible, grew larger as she laid her cheek upon Carl's hand and patted her lap again.

"I...I can't sit on your _lap_!" Carl protested with horror, his eyes darting to Van Helsing who was leaning against the far wall with his ankles crossed and his arms folded over his chest.

"Don't mind me," the hunter assured his friend. "Go ahead."

"_Please_, Carl," Kayla pouted, tugging his hand. "I miss holding you. I miss my grandson."

"Nana Kayla," Carl began, and then swallowed as she patted her thighs again. "Why don't you sit on my lap instead?"

"We can try that," Kayla agreed slowly, then tugged again. "After."

"But...I'm a grown man! I can't sit on your lap! I'll break it!"

"Grandmothers are made of sturdier stuff than you'd think," Kayla assured him. "Don't you want to see me happy?"

"Well of course!"

"This would make me so very happy, Carl. It's not so much to ask. Come on, sit down."

"I..."

"Come on. Sit right here."

"I can't!"

"Yes you can; you just bend your knees and let gravity take its course."

"Hah hah! I can't sit on your lap! I'm too big!"

"I'm not asking to carry you on my back, Carl, I'm just asking you to make an old grandmother happy by allowing her a few precious seconds of your time. Please?"

"Oh my God," Carl moaned as, to his horror, he felt his knees buckle with the force of Kayla's pleading. Helplessly, he sank down until he was perched on her lap like an ostrich returning to the sparrow's nest that hatched it.

"Mmm," Kayla purred and laid her cheek on Carl's chest as she gently began to rock.

A gentle pleased smile came to Van Helsing's face as he watched for a few seconds and then stole away. Kayla's absolute bliss in having her grandson in her arms again, holding him as if he were her special boy from years gone by, touched his heart as few things could. He carried that picture with him to his room, where it was abruptly blown away.

* * *

"Gabriel darling!" Elizabeth smiled as she rose from a chair drawn companionably up to the window seat upon which sat Brother Felcher. 

The hunter's eyes traveled from woman to monk as he sensed the tables of predator versus prey had turned.

Elizabeth hurried to him, raising her arms for a hug which he warily bent to give her. His cheek tingled were she kissed him and his body grew warm within her soft arms. For the barest instant, he allowed his eyes to close as he inhaled her motherly scent of apples and spice.

"I'm so glad you're back, darling," Elizabeth whispered into his ear as she stroked his long dark hair. "I need your help, you see."

"My help?" he asked as he straightened, his dark brows dropping in concern as he looked into blue eyes that reminded him of Carl.

"Yes, sweetheart, your help. I need you to do something for me, something very important. Will you do that?"

"If I can," he promised her, his broad palms sliding over her upper arms comfortingly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing that can't be mended, with your cooperation," Elizabeth assured him with a radiant smile. She turned then, within Van Helsing's arms, pulling them closed about her shoulders so that he hugged her to his chest as she looked at Brother Felcher.

The good monk's face was a mixture of trauma and hope as he rose from his seat, clutching his creation to his chest like a bride holding her wedding bouquet.

"Absolutely not!"

Elizabeth's pretty mouth drooped in a pout as she looked up at the man behind her with eyes as reproachful and sad as only an angel's could be.

The hunter blinked down at the woman, his arms tried to open but Elizabeth firmly held them clasped about her.

"Gabriel," she pouted, "A very great wrong has been done here, dear. A man's dreams have been crushed, for no other reason than silly bravado. I promised Brother Felcher that you weren't that kind of man, to knowingly crush another's spirit. Please, darling? For me?"

"'Darling', hmm?" he growled as his dark eyes rose to the monk with a look promising a long talk in the very near future. He had no idea how Elizabeth had found the monk, much less how Felcher had justified having made a monk's robe for him, but he certainly had no intention of trying to guess much less explain himself. He was in the hands of a master manipulator over whom he had no power of dissuasion. He knew he should simply give in gracefully to get the thing over with, but he heard himself argue with the fatalistic expectations of a suicidal lemming leaping off a cliff.

"I don't wear dresses," he growled to the woman and the monk.

"Pshaw," Elizabeth scoffed.

"It's not a _dress_!" Felcher protested in righteous indignation. "It's a monastic robe, made of the finest material available. _Cardinals_ do not dress so finely as this!"

"Fine, give it to Jinette to wear then," the hunter snarled, and then snarled again as Elizabeth tapped him smartly on the wrist.

"Gabriel! I'm so disappointed! I know you aren't thoughtless. You are such a warm, caring, kind man. Can you look at Brother Felcher, at the possibility of fulfilling this dream that he has, and simply throw it back at him? It's five minutes of your time that will last him a lifetime!"

The hunter's eyes closed as he realized he had no choice. As if realizing her victory, Elizabeth turned in his arms and stood on tip toe to wrap hers about his neck, hugging him tightly.

"Darling, I'm so proud of you," came her devastating whisper into his ear, and he dropped his head to her shoulder with a sigh. He resembled a proud eagle who was about to be dressed up in a tutu and tights.

To his mind, there wasn't much difference.

All of Carl's warnings came back to him as Elizabeth released him and withdrew to one side and Brother Felcher advanced, the fires of a zealot burning in his pale eyes. Van Helsing admitted to himself, then, that he owed Carl a very large apology.

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: A new story

**Summary: Things go from bad to Worse**

**Notes: Sorry for taking so long to update! Now that Brother Wolf is done, I'm hoping I can complete this story in the next three chapters.**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited); some violent concepts though not graphic

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback**: To Kris the Intrepid Geek Queen, KaindeAmedha419, Chibi-Kaz, GlasTriskellion, and Eris86, I give my sincere thanks for your reviews and for egging this madness on!

_Special thanks to my muse Archangel Gabriel, the patron saint of the written word._

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**Irresistible Forces 6**

Brother Simon had started his workday with the usual calm, grim expectations that he brought with him everyday to the catacombs of natural tunnels and caves below the Palace which served as the Order's holding area for incurable evil. He spent most of his days here, buried beneath countless tons of rock; the close dusty atmosphere that others would have felt to be claustrophobic, he found most conducive to his thinking processes. He thought of himself more as a scientist than a monk, and adopted an air of detachment that allowed him to be able to work with the unspeakable evil that the cages housed. The catacombs were maze-like and dim with shadows and dust, but he had trodden this same path for decades and could have done it blind-folded—through the hidden door at the back of an unused store room in the Palace, he followed a well-worn path that hadn't varied significantly in all the years he'd worked in the caves.

He'd had some very specific experiments in mind for that day and had planned a short briefing for the Handlers. The Handlers, rough muscular men who silently took his orders in the care and handling of their prisoners, normally met him every morning outside the iron door that shut off the natural grottos and cages they formed. The men had not been there when Simon arrived that morning, though. Instead, his horrified blue eyes took in a large crimson stain that saturated the gritty stone floor and made the air reek like a charnel house.

Brother Simon's slow walk had slowed even further until it was barely perceptible as he realized the red pool was also littered with various horrible gristly bits that were plainly bone, hair, and leather. It was the sight of the leather that made his blood drain from his epidermis, leaving him pale and cold. The prisoners housed in the caves beyond wore tunics of the most basic and easily cared for cloth. The only source for leather within the catacombs was the leather jerkins worn by the Handlers.

Time and motion slowed to an agonizing crawl as realization came to him; against his will, his eyes rose from the gory puddle, inch by inch toward the iron door. His mind shrieked at him to hurry, to check it and, if need be to close it, but despite the good sense of that, his eyes wouldn't move any faster. They traveled slowly, of their own will, until at last they touched the far wall and saw only darkness. The door itself was missing entirely, leaving unguarded the dark gaping hole that led to the cages.

He stood, mouth agape, eyes bulging for several precious seconds before the primitive part of his brain associated with self-preservation wrested control away from his civilized intellect and set his feet in motion. It had been a long long time since Brother Simon had had to run anywhere, but he was making a good effort now. His pounding heart felt as though it would burst from his body and his breath tore through his throat in agonizing rattling wheezes. He prayed he'd make it out of the maze-like corridors in one piece, that he'd make it to the hidden door that separated him from the safety of the Palace, and that he wouldn't drop down of a heart attack in this dark quiet place. He didn't want to die. He'd spent so much of his lifetime in darkness, surrounded by the darkness of flickering shadows and the deeper darkness of evil—now he realized he didn't want to die without seeing the sun one last time.

"Please please please please God," he begged in ragged gasps as both hands clutched at his chest. He knew where he was, he'd made the long journey so quickly that he was within yards now of safety and he was more afraid now than he'd been at the start of his run.

The leather soles of his worn sandals made loud slapping noises interspersed with the sound of crunching grit. He held on to that sound, used it to anchor himself against his fear as he rounded the last bend. His eyes widened in horror as, impossibly, the dusty trail he'd followed for years was now broken by a huge yawning black hole. His sandals skidded on the floor before catching; he tried to stop himself from falling but it was a foregone conclusion so he shut his eyes as he fell into the trap that stretched out before him. His breath tore from his mouth in a hoarse inhuman caw of horror that abruptly ended as he splashed down into bitterly cold water.

Frantically, he kicked at the dark fluid, clawing and flailing until he broke the surface and dragged a breath into his lungs. His eyes rose upward to see the dim opening several feet above. The hole he'd fallen into had walls of stone and loose earth that allowed him enough purchase to hang onto. He was relatively safe and apparently in no danger of drowning yet, but he wasn't getting out of the pit without help.

Brother Simon closed his eyes and dropped his head against the earthen wall. He'd been spared, apparently, but what he had seen at the end of the corridor before he'd fallen tempered whatever jubilation he might have felt.

At the end of the dark corridor, shadows and dust danced upon the breeze that poured like cool water through the open door leading to the store room beyond. It was the same door that he had purposely closed behind him that morning, just as he did every morning. Something had opened it, something had gone through.

Something was now loose in the Palace, and he couldn't warn them.

* * *

_There wasn't much time; freedom was a transitory thing that was already slipping through their fingers. The three of them had used the power they'd carefully horded for a decade to free themselves, then more to set the trap for the fat brother, and now they had just enough power left to fulfill their lust for vengeance. They'd die, of course, but not before they saw the seeds of their last destructive act fall upon fertile ground and take root._

_The solid wood double doors blew open with the concussive force of dynamite, impacting the walls behind hard enough to fracture both doors and masonry. Before them was the beautiful arched reception hall of the Palace itself. The light here was golden and filled with colors from the magnificent stained glass windows and banks of fat white candles burning on all sides. Their eyes were dazzled but their hearts overflowed with darkness born of anger and bitterness. They'd lived too long in darkness, it was more welcome now than the light, however pretty it might be. They spat upon the Italian marble tiles and cackled loudly, filling the air with blue curses. _

_There were people here, pretty people in pretty clothing who drew back from them in horror and shocked disgust. They smiled as they waggled dirty fingers at the gawkers in arcane signs of cursing. There was no power behind the signs, of course, because power wasn't to be wasted on the likes of these. But one never knew…after all, even aimless drips and dribbles of evil had to go **somewhere**. Surely some of it would stick._

_They advanced to the center of the great hall and turned back to back to back. Their red lips curved up into feral grins as the crowds drew back, clutching at one another like little children frightened of the bogey man. Time to give them a real taste of fear!_

_Three mouths opened to reveal saber-like black teeth as from their corpse-white throats poured sonic screams. All around them, the white candles exploded in a burning rain of hot wax, glass shattered and people screamed and ran, or fell to the ground and curled up as they vainly tried to stop their ears, to stop the sound that went on and on. Futile, stupid humans! It would never stop, never falter, it would go on until he came to deal with it. Van Helsing!_

* * *

Carl's first intimation that something was wrong came when the windows shattered explosively, hurling diamond bright shards out into the empty afternoon sky. In the next instant, the beautiful art glass scattered about the apartment sitting room began to wobble. Carl rose and threw himself over his grandmother, pulling her head hard down into his chest as he ducked his own head; an instant later the glass and ceramic sculptures exploded as well, spraying Carl, Kayla and the room with deadly shards. The friar jerked and winced as he felt his skin flayed and sliced open in thin whip-like cuts and thanked God it wasn't worse. 

As the barrage of flying glass dwindled because there was nothing left to break, he dropped down, pulling her after him to the floor. She gasped and cried out in fear, but she did exactly what he needed her to do, allowing herself to be pulled to the far wall where a magnificent mahogany and leather couch stood sentinel. He pressed her down flat on the floor, then rose up to seize the heavy piece by one arm. With all his body weight, he yanked at the couch, causing it to slide in fitful starts and stops over the thick rug beneath its ball feet. He yanked again and again, cursing, until he'd managed to pull it back far enough to open a small space behind it.

He leant down then, pulling at her shoulders and arms. "Kayla, slide behind this!" His grandmother looked up with startled eyes as he pulled her to her knees, and thrust her at the small aperture.

"Carl! I don't understand what…."

"Please, not now! Let me get you safe, and then I can find out!" Carl growled and resolutely pushed and prodded the old woman until she was forced to sidle into the small space. "Keep down and keep your head low. This couch will protect you," Carl promised before he thrust a large well-stuffed pillow into the opening, effectively shutting it off and stopping any questions she might have had.

He straightened then, and cautiously looked about, horrified at the devastation all around him. A sudden loud _crack_ had him reflexively ducking; across the room, the pale crème Florentine plaster that covered the wall was split by an ugly jagged gash that dribbled dust. As the crack widened so did Carl's eyes as the horrible thought came to him that the Palace itself might be collapsing. He whirled back to the couch, torn between finding the rest of his family or taking Kayla from the room before it fell down over their heads. As he hesitated, he heard it—the inhuman ululating screams that sliced through his brains and lodged in his bones.

"Oh God!" Carl cried, clapping his hands to his ears.

"Carl!" Van Helsing emerged from the bedroom, his dark features drawn down into a painful grimace as he staggered over the intervening space to seize the friar's shoulders.

"Banshees!" Carl gasped, looking up with watering eyes to see the hunter nod.

"Come on!" Pulling Carl after him, the hunter started toward the apartment door only to halt as Carl pulled back.

"My mother! Kayla! It's not safe for them here!"

"They're as safe here as anywhere else! We've got to stop the Banshees before they bring the Palace down!"

Resolutely, Van Helsing dragged Carl after him, through the doorway and out into the hallway. Without the muffling interference of the apartment walls, the screams struck at them with renewed force, forcing them back against the wall. By main will, they straightened and shoved away from the wall to run, bent almost double, for the main stairwell. The relative shelter of the stairway allowed them to catch their breaths.

Van Helsing yanked up the hem of the long dark robe he was wearing to get at the tops of the tall dark boots he wore from which he extracted several slim stilettos. He shoved half at Carl who juggled them awkwardly before his grip firmed.

"Aim for the heart," the hunter growled, and then set off again at a run. Carl crossed himself then hitched his skirts up and followed.

When they burst out into the great vestibule, the barrage of sound nearly dropped Carl in his tracks. He felt something hot and wet run over his chin and realized it was blood pouring from his nose. Looking to Van Helsing, he saw the hunter's face was also blood smeared as crimson trails dripped from his chin.

In the center of the vestibule, in the flood of light that fell down from the center dome, three stooped women stood in a circle. Their long snarled white hair flowed over the dirty brown tunics they wore to pool upon the tiles at their feet. Their milky blue eyes and corpse-pale skin were in startling contrast to the ruby red of their open mouths from which protruded black fangs.

When Van Helsing emerged from the stairwell, they turned as one, rearranging themselves to face him in a solid line. The screaming stopped abruptly, but from their throats now poured a string of words that raised the short hairs on Carl's neck.

"Van Helsing! It's an incantation! Stop them!" the friar shouted.

From the hunter's hands, three stilettos flew, arrowing straight for the Banshees. At the same time, they thrust out their own hands, as though throwing a missile at Van Helsing.

Carl lurched forward, his arms going about the hunter's waist as he threw his weight to one side. Suddenly, everything seemed to be in slow motion. They seemed to hang in mid air while he watched the stilettos fly with unerring accuracy to bury themselves in the Banshees; he heard their death cries and saw them begin to fall when something hard and painful struck him.

The pain was incredible, he felt as though it was sheering him in half. He heard both his and Van Helsing cries before merciful unconsciousness delivered him from his suffering.

* * *

It was so quiet…the absolute stillnessenshrouded him like a warm soft blanket.The noise and the pain were goneand he wanted to savor it. Stubbornly, he clung to the muzzy velvet hand of darkness but his thoughts were coming awake and taking on a stubborn sullen life of their own that he couldn't stop. Images flashed across his mind's eye—a room filled with a beautiful twinkling fog that bewildered his eyes and cut his skin. He recognized the room as the sitting room of the apartments given to his family. There was sound, a terrible piercing sound that he recognized as Kayla's screams and beneath that the sound of banshees. 

"Banshees!" Carl jerked upright, blinking rapidly, his eyes darting about him to find he was alone in an empty dark room. Squinting into the gloomy light, he recognized the darkened room as his own chamber and the normalcy of the austere and run down appointments soothed his fears. The Order must have brought him here, after they'd killed the Banshees.

He gulped a bit, swallowing the metallic taste of his earlier panic with a grimace as he considered the quiet darkness. It was odd that there was no one here with him…he remembered the blood on his skin, running down his face. True, a nose bleed was hardly a calamity requiring surgeons, but surely they could have done better than to simply bundle him out of sight and forget about him?

Carl's fingers rose to his face; expecting to feel the crust of dry blood, his questing fingers instead stroked over smooth soft skin. His eyebrows rose as he patted his chin and then his cheeks. Not only was his skin free of any of pain from the many cuts he distinctly remembered getting from the flying glass, but it also appeared that he had been shaved. His skin was extremely smooth and softer than he ever remembered it being before.

A new thought impinged upon his wonder as he somewhat belatedly, and guiltily, remembered that his family would be worried. He hoped that the Cardinal had seen to it that his family was assured of his safety and then he blushed at the presumption of expecting the Cardinal to run such an errand. He'd fallen into bad habits since he'd taken to living in the palatial apartments, becoming used to privilege and the benefits of wealth. He would need to watch himself.

Sighing, Carl carefully eased out from under the covers that had been arranged over him, sliding up the bed to reach the candle he kept on the plain stool that served as his bedside table. As he did so, he frowned when he bumped into the solid wall at the head of the bed much sooner than he was used to. Distracted and agitated, he leaned over to feel for the stool and felt only rumpled linens—the bed he lay upon seemed to have widened considerably from the thin cot he was used to. Why would they change his bed? Had it been damaged?

He felt over the mattress, patting and poking about in the dark and cursing when he had to rise up onto hands and knees in his quest for the mattress edge. When his questing fingers finally found the candle and the box of lucifers beside it, a sigh of relief gusted from him. Resolutely, he struck the match, and then cried out, dropping the burning stick so that it bounced upon the hard stone floor and was extinguished.

Left in the darkness, he stared wide-eyed at the vague outlines of the stool, the unlit candle, and his hand that was still outstretched before him. With his free hand he reached up and touched the other, hesitantly stroking his fingers over each other, then over the soft skin of his arms. His gulp in the still gloom of his chamber was horrendously loud.

"Oh my God," he murmured, and then froze like a mouse in the corner as he listened to the sound of his own voice.

From out in the corridor, he heard other noises now that rapidly resolved into footsteps approaching his door. He seized the blankets that lay in a jumble about him and pulled them up about him as if they would serve to mask the horrid certainty of what had happened to him. He heard the latch slip and then the door opened spilling light and sound over his bed.

Carl moaned and shut his eyes tightly, but it was far too late to deny what he had seen.

Cardinal Jinette, at his doorway, standing all of ten feet tall was infinitely more comforting than the realization that Carl himself had apparently shrunk. Quite a lot. And judging by the brief glimpse he caught of his own body, the reason for that shrinkage was that he had apparently, somehow, been turned from a tall-ish, muscular, 30 year-old man into a downy-skinned boy of about five.

The hard lines of Jinette's normally austere mouth softened as he looked down at the small blond boy who sat hugging his legs with his face buried from sight behind rounded knees. If he allowed himself to admit it, he'd always held a sneaking fondness for Carl that ran along the same lines as one would feel for a bumble-footed adorable puppy with its odd mixture of wise eyes and awkward body. Carl was a handful, but it was hard not to admire the reluctant courage he brought with him to the Order. Now, apparently, the friar would have an unlooked for opportunity to practice that courage anew.

"Carl…." Jinette sighed as the boy shook his head roughly and tried to burrow more deeply into the mounds of blankets piled about him. "Hiding will do no good."

"I'm not hiding! I'm looking for two and a half _feet_ of me that I seem to have misplaced!"

"Ah. Well…I do not think you will find them there," Jinette murmured with a smile as he moved to seat himself gingerly upon the edge of Carl's narrow bed. "Besides, we must talk about how this can be corrected."

Slowly, oh so very slowly, the blond head came up to reveal the cherubic, apple cheeked face of a five-year-old boy with large blue eyes that held a completely unexpected air of adult cynicism.

"Corrected?" Carl asked carefully. "I've been turned into a…a…."

"Child," Jinette supplied helpfully, suppressing a smile as the friar fixed him with a completely unchildlike glare of exasperation.

"Yes! How does one fix something like that? I can't even imagine how it was done in the first place! Wait…was anyone else…Van Helsing?"

The boy peering up into the Cardinal's face didn't need an answer, he saw it all too clearly in Jinette's eyes. His own blue gaze widened as his mouth fell open.

"Oh my God," he breathed, and then abruptly that breath hitched in a barely suppressed titter. "Van Helsing…a boy? How young?"

"About the same as you, perhaps a year older."

Carl crammed a fist into his mouth to stop the explosive bark of laughter that boiled up from his stomach from escaping; in the next instant he was scrambling out from under the coverlets to hop to the floor.

"I have to see this!"

"Carl!" Jinette caught the boy's arm, a reproving gleam in his eyes that hardened as the former friar's eyes met his with surprise. Jinette opened his mouth to reprove the friar for his out-of-place levity, for his lack of decorum, for his carelessness, all of which fled his mind with Carl's next words.

"What? Is something wrong?" Carl asked, his round cheeks paling. "He's alright, isn't he? I mean, besides being shrunk…he's not hurt is he?"

Jinette's mouth twitched upwards against his will as he shook his head and released the boy's arm to smooth his rough palm over the rumpled blond hair.

"No, Carl. He is well. But before you go to see him, perhaps you would like to dress?"

The Cardinal noted that Carl's flush of mortification seemed to flow from the top of his head all the way down to his toes. It was one of those unlooked-for facts that one does not expect to discover in the course of a normal day. As the friar whirled about his chamber looking for suitable clothing, Jinette closed his eyes in a heartfelt prayer that he would not be subject to any more unlooked for discoveries.

* * *

In the end, they settled for outfitting Carl with one of his oldest, most threadbare robes, and then roughly cut away most of the lower skirted portion so that the boy wouldn't trip. As it was, the wide shoulders hopelessly swamped him, but some additional rough trimming took care of most of the problem. For shoes, they had no alternatives, so when Carl set out for Van Helsing's room, it was on his own bare feet. 

"Oh! This stone is cold! I never noticed that before," Carl remarked ruefully, dancing a little with excess energy.

"Settle down, Carl," Jinette murmured, then winced at the tone of his reproof. He would have to remember that, no matter how youthful Carl or Van Helsing appeared, their intellects and experiences were still those of the men they had been.

Carl, fortunately, didn't seem to take exception to his superior's words. His dancing settled down to a nice sedate walk though he continued to mumble beneath his breath about chilblains.

As they entered the darkened hallway leading to the hunter's room, the normal quietude of the area was sundered by the sound of shouting, a slamming door and then the slapping sounds of bare feet running at high speed. Almost immediately, they heard the clomping sounds of booted feet in hot pursuit.

Without thinking about it, Carl shoved against Jinette hard, pushing the older man against the far wall and then flattening himself.

From out of the gloom, running at top speed with dark hair flying, came a boy dressed only in a long grey sweater that he held up off the floor with both hands. His face was set in a dark scowl and his dark eyes were snapping. When he caught sight of Carl and Jinette, he abruptly checked, his bare feet stuttering over the marble tiles.

In the next instant, a panting wheezing man dressed in the livery of the Palace guard emerged into view, pouncing on the dark-haired boy with a triumphant shout. He seized the grey sweater and the thin shoulders beneath and hauled the boy into the air so that he could meet the boy's snapping hazel eyes.

"Gotcha, you little sh…"

Carl winced as the boy's foot arched outward, catching the man squarely between the legs.

For an instant, the guard merely blinked, his open mouth forming a small "_Oooo_" of unspeakable pain. Then, as a wash of crimson flooded his face, he abruptly dropped like a stone, taking the boy with him.

Jinette and Carl pushed away from the wall, hesitantly approaching the fallen man. He appeared to have cracked his head upon the stone floor because he was quite obviously out cold. Beneath him, wriggling against the dead weight that pinned himat the hips to the floor, face down, the dark haired boy cursed luridly before elbowing the downed guard viciously in the ribs.

"Get the hell off me!"

"Van Helsing!" Jinette barked

"Van Helsing?" Carl breathed, his blue eyes widening as the other boy's face rose to his and he took in the downy skin, huge dark eyes fringed with long dark lashes, and a sweet cherubic mouth.

"Carl?" Van Helsing blinked, frowned, and then abruptly jabbed his elbow back against the guard again as his gaze moved to Jinette. From the cherubic mouth came a snarl as he growled, "Get this damned idiot off me—or do I have to chew off my own limbs to escape?"

Jinette heard the muffled snort of a juvenile titter from the blond boy at his side and closed his eyes in a prayer for God's mercy who, he was sure, was also having a good chuckle at the expense of the beleaguered Cardinal.

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: A new story

**Summary: Of Tooshies and Piggies and other important things**

**Notes: I kind of left this in an odd spot, but I realized it was getting darned long! So we'll save some of the fun stuff—like bath night and clothes shopping—for another chapter, shall we?**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited); some violent concepts though not graphic

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback**: Milady Dragon, Mannariel, Chibi-Kaz, Runts Gal, Toto3, SeaDragon 68, KaindeAmedha419, and eris 86—thank you for the kind words! It's such a treat to hear how you like the story and to read your insights! I hope that you'll enjoy this new chapter though I suspect I may have gone a little over board in the 'cute' direction. Couldn't help it!

_Special thanks to my muse Archangel Gabriel, the patron saint of the written word._

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* * *

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**Irresistible Forces 7**

Brother Clark was not having a good day. And that was a fact that he heartily regretted as he tried to stop himself from wringing his hands while he tried out an ingratiating smile upon the three women who stood before him in the sitting room of the apartments given to Carl's family.

Sophie raised one dark skeptical eyebrow as the red-headed brother fidgeted and wriggled like a fish on a hook while failing abysmally in his attempt at innocent ignorance. Beside her, she felt Elizabeth shift her stance as she folded her arms—any minute now…. There it was. The tap of Lady Elizabeth's foot, muffled but distinct. Sophie smiled sweetly at the monk as he gulped noisily. On her other side, Kayla leaned upon her cane, her dark brows folded down over snapping eyes as she pinned the hapless man's gaze like a bug to a wall.

"He's repairing _earthquake_ damage? I wasn't aware that an earthquake's tremors could continue for over ten minutes…tremors, by the way, that I didn't feel. But perhaps the quakes in Rome are a different breed from the rest of the globe? Would that be right?"

The brother's mouth opened and shut with a noise that sounded like a rusty hinge as his gaze darted from one woman to the next. "Ahhhh….well…the…er…aftershocks, of course…."

"Aftershocks?" Sophie purred, her red lips curling up into a kitten's smile. "And the screaming we heard…that would be from…the aftershocks?"

"Er…screaming?" Brother Clark bit his lip, then slowly spread his hands out before him in a propitiating gesture as he hunched his shoulders and grinned feebly. "Well, there were some hysterical souls, of course, who reacted badly... Of course, it could have also been...ah…escaping gas…perhaps?"

When three sets of eyebrows rose, the brother fell back to the last bastion of safety--Lord Jacob who was currently reclining upon the skewed leather and wood couch that had, until recently, sheltered Kayla. The man certainly looked relaxed, unlike the three beldames that faced the good brother. In fact, a gentle smile came to his mouth as he caught the brother's gaze.

"You might as well tell them, you know," Lord Jacob advised the sweating monk kindly. "They'll get it out of you in the end; you could save yourself a lot of pain by just giving in early."

"P.p.pain?" the brother gabbled, his horrified eyes flying back to the three ladies. They looked so _normal_…what kind of pain could the man possibly be talking about? Perhaps there would be knitting needles and hat pins involved? Perhaps, if driven right into the heart, they could do enough damage….

When Elizabeth moved unexpectedly, the brother grabbed at his chest with a squeaking "_Ulp_!" She merely smiled at him as she slid her warm hands through his bent elbow and tugged him gently toward a nearby lounge.

"You know," she began confidingly, "we have always been a family who believes in giving value for value. It's a sound business practice that has served us well. I'm sure you can see how that makes sense."

"Oh…yes, yes, of course," the red head smiled, bobbing his head.

"I'm so pleased," Elizabeth purred as she urged the brother to sit, and then seated herself gracefully beside him. "Now, we are looking for information, but perhaps it's not fair of us to expect you to understand precisely what we're asking when you don't realize what we already know. I propose that we give you that information now—then you'll be able to…fill in the blanks, as it were. Alright?"

"_Ulp_…" the brother gulped air, blinking rapidly as he saw the other two women approach, drifting toward him with the languid grace and deadly intent of nosferatu, intent on sucking out the last drop of knowledge he possessed.

* * *

Sunlight sparked off the sapphire in Jinette's ring, casting a rippling wash of color over the table he was drumming his fingers on. He found that if he watched the play of color and light it became almost mesmerizing to the point that he could forget the two young hooligans that sat side-by-side across from him. Seconds of blissful utter silence passed that flowed over Jinette like a gift from God... 

"Ahem," came the respectful throat clearing from the angelic looking blond boy.

"Well this is fun," came the reply from the little dark haired demon beside him.

Jinette closed his eyes as the blue wash of color froze behind his eyes into the beginnings of a truly horrendous headache.

"Your Grace?" Carl ventured, his eyes darting to Van Helsing who was frowning with wry sympathy.

"Headache?" Van Helsing asked.

"Yes, a headache," Jinette sighed.

"I can cure that," the mini-hunter assured him and hopped down from his chair. He was still clad in the grey sweater, but it had been ruched up and secured with a twice looped belt. The resulting bulge at his midriff coupled with the thrice rolled sleeves made him look like a ball of grey yarn with limbs. He grimaced at the awkwardness of it but moved with a purpose toward the glass-fronted cabinet where stoppered crystal bottles gleamed.

After their momentous reunion in the Palace hallway, the Cardinal had brought them to his own chambers, saying he would rather deal with them in the relative privacy of his own apartments than in the open. Both friar and hunter agreed and had followed him willingly. Their progress had been marked, it seemed, by every eye in the Palace–too many people had been present to witness the destruction of the Banshees and the subsequent metamorphosis of the two men. It was impossible to hide what had happened or the identity of the two boys. Jinette had sternly turned aside any attempt by the onlookers to interfere with their progress to privacy—the very idea of the spectacle that they presented on that seemingly endless journey had caused his head to pound and his stomach to knot upon itself. The Order had always, **_always_** been a secret organization. They operated in darkness; it was one of the prime rules that allowed them to function at all.

And then, on one cold rainy night when Van Helsing had fetched up wounded and alone at their doorstep, all of that had changed. Suddenly there were wanted posters, notoriety, public battles, and crowds of staring whispering people...

Jinette rubbed at his forehead roughly, willing the pounding to cease. He heard the bell-like sounds of crystal against crystal in the background followed by the sultry rich scent of port. He sighed as an image came to mind—the beautiful crystal goblet set upon the stone floor so that the Order's prime hunter could use both small hands to hold the heavy decanter while pouring the liquor.

Carl watched with sympathy as a wince of pain tightened Jinette's forehead and features. He could well imagine what his superior was feeling; he himself was overwhelmed. The only thing that kept the panic that bubbled in his gut from boiling over was the absolute blind faith in the Order to set things right. There had to be a solution—there _had_ to be. And he prayed with all his strength that it would be quickly found because he truly didn't want to have to explain to his white-haired mother why she suddenly had a five-year old son again. Carl's skin grew hot with a flush of mortification as he thought of his family and how they must be worried for his safety.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat again, a small smile appearing on his lips as Jinette opened one bleary gray eye and fixed it upon him. "My parents...," Carl shrugged apologetically as he saw the eye flicker in vague recrimination before disappearing behind Jinette's hand again.

"Yes," the Cardinal sighed, "we must deal with that as well. I've sent word to them that you are well, but helping with the cleanup. They were not happy, of course, but they seem to have accepted the necessity. I dispatched Brother Clark to see to the repairs of their apartments; they will be told the disturbance was due to a minor earth tremor and there should be no cause for alarm."

"Ah...yes...well, that sounds good," Carl agreed hesitantly, hating to argue.

Van Helsing had no such compunctions. He approached the table holding a brimming goblet. "Here's you wine," he said, then as Jinette looked down at him to take the cup, the hunter let him have it. "They'll spot that story for a load of monkey nuts in five minutes flat. Carl's family isn't stupid—and there are too many people who saw what actually happened."

"And whose fault is that?" Jinette growled, and then closed his eyes as his headache escalated in intensity.

One side of Van Helsing's mouth quirked upward in a rueful grimace. "Mine," he admitted, shrugging when the Cardinal's hand dropped from his eyes to allow the prelate to look down at him in surprise. "You're right. I should have found some way to lure the Banshees to a more secluded spot."

"It's just as much my fault," Carl added. "I was there; I could have been of more help. It was just so hard to think with that screaming..."

"Yes, the screaming," Jinette nodded, before raising his goblet to sip at the strong port. It caressed his palate with warmth and comfort and a small smile softened his mouth as he felt the clutching fingers of his headache ease. "Much better," he murmured. "Thank you, Van Helsing."

The hunter returned the smile as he patted Jinette's knee then walked back around the table to his vacated chair. Setting his teeth in determination, he stood on tip toe and reached for the arm, using it to anchor his strength as he hauled himself up to the seat. Carl helpfully caught his arm and pulled until the hunter was able to settle onto the red-leather cushion.

When the two turned their attention back to the Cardinal, they were surprised to find him smiling at them.

"What?" Van Helsing asked, frowning. "This is hardly a laughing matter," he reproved his superior.

"I am not laughing," the older man assured him. "But you must allow me to be human. A little boy climbing up into a chair with the help of his friend is a charming sight, regardless the fact that he could have lifted the chair with one hand only the day before."

"I'll be more in a mood to be charmed when we're back to normal," the hunter said firmly. "This _can_ be reversed, can't it?"

Jinette nodded, and then shrugged. "If it can be done, I am certain it can be undone.

Carl and Van Helsing looked at one another with dismay, plainly taken aback that Jinette couldn't promise something a little more definite. It was Carl who spoke first, as he valiantly attempted to interject a little confidence into his voice.

"Well, everything should be fine then."

"So, how did the Banshees get loose?" Van Helsing settled back in his chair to face the Cardinal once again, the personae of the hunter dropping over him as naturally as a cloak.

Jinette settled back as well, more at ease now as the talk turned to the Order's normal business.

"From the reports received, it appears that the Banshees were hording magic, leaching it off the other inmates a little at a time. When they had a sufficient quantity, they used it to escape. Apparently they were looking for you, Van Helsing."

"Surprise," the dark haired hunter grimaced. "I brought them in years ago...that's a long time to hold a grudge."

"I would imagine they had little else to occupy their thoughts during their stay with us," Jinette replied dryly.

"Brother Simon, is he alright?" Carl interrupted, expelling a relieved sigh as Jinette nodded.

"He was rescued from an underground pool; I suspect he has caught a chill but beyond that he was unharmed. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the Handlers that worked with him."

"None of the other inmates escaped, did they?" Van Helsing asked. He noted Carl's wince at his apparent callousness in light of the death of several men, but it was his job to ensure the safety of the living before he took the time to mourn the dead. He would leave that to Carl, for now.

Jinette shifted uneasily, his eyes fixed upon his hands and the crystal goblet they held. "We are looking into it. There was a great deal of damage to the holding cells; it is taking time to remove the rubble and not all of the...er...bodies...are intact."

"Ugh!" Carl gagged, but Van Helsing merely frowned and nodded.

A quiet knock at the closed door interrupted whatever else might have been said. Jinette uttered a sharp sound of irritation before harshly calling admittance.

The door creaked open with a deference that came from years of dedicated obsequious brown nosing. Van Helsing raised an eyebrow as he recognized the pasty visage and flaming hair of Brother Clark as he edged past the panel, his bushy red eyebrows raised in question.

"Your Grace...I'm sorry to interrupt...really! Of course you must be very very busy and if now is not a good time I could come back later..."

"Now is fine, Brother Clark," Jinette interrupted, fearing that the monk would go on apologizing indefinitely. "You have news about the catacombs?"

"Ah...well...yes...sort of...but that's not really why I'm here...exactly...though I could give you that report now if that's what you want to hear...but I thought you would want to know about this other...small...problem...but it can wait...of course..."

"What is he talking about?" Van Helsing growled to Carl who could only shrug, his own brows knitted in confusion.

Jinette waggled an admonishing finger at the hunter and friar as he addressed the wavering brother firmly. "There is another problem? What is it?"

"Well…it seems that Carl's…er…family…is…."

"My family?" Carl scrambled about in his chair, huffing in frustration as the makeshift robe he wore bound his legs for an instant before giving way to his tugging. Once freed, the mini friar rose to his feet, standing on the chair's seat to look over the high back at the flustered monk. "What about my family? Are they alright?"

The sight of what appeared to be a five-year-old boy answering to Carl's name sent both of the good brother's scarlet brows into motion until they almost disappeared into his hairline. Coupled with his mouth falling open wide, Van Helsing was irresistibly reminded of a baby robin begging for worms.

Jinette frowned reprovingly as the hunter's snort of laughter reached his ears but Van Helsing merely shrugged with an unrepentant smirk.

"Your family is well, as I told you before," the Cardinal assured Carl. When he saw the friar's shoulders slump with relief, the Cardinal turned back to the waiting monk. "What about Carl's family? I sent you to them hours ago—you were to provide them with information and to make arrangements to repair any damage…surely you could relay a simple message without causing a major disturbance?"

"Ah…well…I delivered the message, of course," the brother murmured his reassurance but his attention remained fixed upon the two boys, ogling them like exotic exhibits at a zoo.

"And? _And_?" Jinette prompted with a snap, deriving a certain satisfaction when the brother jumped and clutched at his chest.

"They're downstairs. They came downstairs. They're _helping_ with the cleanup… I _tried_ to handle the situation as you instructed but they wore me down! It was inhuman! They seemed to know _everything_!"

Jinette felt his eyes close against his will; a picture of breathtaking clarity formed within his mind of the bright, personable ladies moving about, helping out, chatting, gathering information like one would pick berries for a pie…

"Whoops," Van Helsing tsked. "Did you forget to lock them into their apartment?"

Slowly, Jinette's eyes opened to fix upon the hunter as a powerful itch started in the palms of his hands. An old adage occurred to the prelate as a grim smile touched his lips—'Spare the rod…spoil the child.'

Van Helsing's dark brows dropped as his eyes narrowed. He hadn't survived as a hunter by not being able to read the warning signs. "Don't even think it. I'm not the problem."

"You have always been a problem, Van Helsing," Jinette assured him as he reluctantly leaned back in his chair and rubbed away the intriguing tingle in his hands.

"Hmph…alright, then let's say that you've got bigger problems than me today," the hunter amended. "Continuing this charade isn't going to work, why not bring them in? They probably already know most of it...it's only a matter of moments before they come knocking on the door. If you want to retain their trust, then it's time to give them a reason for it."

Jinette frowned, his eyes narrowed as he eyed the hunter with a mixture of righteous indignation and dread fascination. The hunter's words made sense, but it had the bitter taste of defeat. "We have maintained our anonymity for over 400 years…."

"This is the 19th century," the hunter interjected firmly. "Superstitions and unwavering acceptance of every bit of palaver Mother Church sees fit to dispense isn't the norm any longer. Things are changing, whether you're ready or not."

With a rattling sigh, the prelate grimaced as one hand returned to rub at the headache hammering for attention behind his eyes. "When you first came to us…we opened the door…we took you into our midst. I think, that might have been our first mistake."

Van Helsing smiled as he swung his feet back and forth over the foot wide gap between the soles of his feet and the floor. "Too late now…you've already fed me. I'm yours."

"Oh God," Jinette sighed.

* * *

Carl shifted nervously upon the thick warm velvet rug beneath his bare feet. He cast a glance at the hunter beside him and was pleased to see Van Helsing looked as uncomfortable as he felt. In front of them, obscuring them from sight, Jinette's back was rigidly straight while his clasped hands were firmly still. The friar eyed those motionless fingers with a touch of awed fascination—he couldn't imagine how Jinette could stand so still, so patient, as they waited for Carl's family to be escorted into the room. 

Van Helsing, too, had his share of butterflies, but a large share of his misgivings was centered on the catacombs below them. They'd had no real news of the situation below; it was possible that more than banshees had escaped and if memory served him, any of the monsters below being at large would be an emergency. He chafed at not being able to go below himself, to ascertain the situation—despite his diminutive stature, he was still a hunter and his instincts could help speed the process. He hadn't mentioned this to Jinette, there was no need, he already knew what the prelate would say. But that didn't stop him from thinking and planning how best to accomplish his goals on his own.

Another fidget from the friar at his side dragged the hunter's thoughts away from their grim meanderings and a smile touched his lips as Carl bounced up and down on his toes. Without speaking, he extended a hand to catch Carl's nearest shoulder and firmly pressed him back down. When he saw the friar's round downy cheeks flush with embarrassment, he patted Carl's back and bumped his shoulder against his friend's before leaning in to whisper into Carl's ear.

"It'll be alright."

"Of course it will," Carl sighed. "After all, what mother wouldn't love to see her grown self-sufficient son reduced to a 3-foot toddler?"

"At least you're housebroken," Van Helsing murmured soothingly, and then grinned as Carl's eyes rolled.

"Just remember…you're in the same boat," the friar muttered.

"They're not my parents; I doubt the sight of me will hit them the same way."

"You don't know my mother."

Any further discussion was interrupted by a discreet knock on the large wooden door.

"Here they are," Jinette said, then cast a glace behind them at the two waiting urchins. If he hadn't known their identities, he would have taken them for village children. True, their difference in coloring made them a striking pair—Carl with his Tudor coloring and Van Helsing with the dark hair and olive complexion of a native Italian reminded Jinette irresistibly of small pots of salt and pepper. They were both pretty children, a thought which brought an irresistible smile to Jinette's lips and caused Van Helsing's eyes to narrow knowingly. Jinette cleared his throat, wiping the smile from his lips. "You will allow me to speak, to explain, please."

"Of course," Carl agreed. Van Helsing nodded, once.

Drawing in a deep breath, the Cardinal faced forward once again.

"Enter."

At Jinette's summons, the stout oak panel opened slowly, smoothly, to reveal a paler than normal Brother Clark who stepped to one side to allow Elizabeth to enter the room, followed by Sophie, Kayla, and lastly Lord Jacob. Jinette nodded to Brother Clark who wasted no time in sliding out, closing the door firmly behind him.

Lord Jacob crossed the room first, a rather frozen looking smile upon his lips. Bowing before Jinette, his smile grew a trifle warmer. "Your Grace, we appreciate your seeing us. I'm certain we can clear up any misunderstandings by direct communication."

"Uh oh," Van Helsing murmured and Carl closed his eyes.

Without moving from his place, Jinette gestured the family to the comfortable chairs that had been drawn up to the fire place. "Perhaps you will sit down."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but Jacob shook his head, just the barest motion, and she subsided. Plainly, she wasn't pleased to back down and her blue eyes on Jinette's promised him that no amount of wriggling around the truth would be acceptable.

Once the family was settled, Lord Jacob forestalled anything Jinette had planned to say by cutting directly to the matter most dear to him.

"Your Grace, before we begin this discussion, we want to see Carl. And please, we have already been told that he is not at hand, that he is attending to repairs, that he is in his lab, out in the stables, or in the dining hall. Everywhere, in fact, except where he really is—with you. We would like to see him…now."

Jinette's mouth thinned slightly as a sigh gusted from his nostrils, but he nodded. Silently, he moved to one side, allowing the assembled group to see the two boys standing behind him.

"Oh my God," Elizabeth breathed, her blue eyes widening until it appeared they would pop from their orbitals. Kayla's mouth fell open and she fumbled in her pocket savagely before at last withdrawing a lacey bit of cloth and her spectacles. She blew her nose noisily and mopped her eyes vigorously. When she had regained her composure, she settled the glasses upon her nose and peering through them, taking in every inch of the blond boy before them.

"It's the spitting image of him," she announced, then shook her head. "But how in the world…."

"It's Carl," Jacob said grimly.

Sophie, patting Elizabeth's hand firmly, turned her gaze to the other boy. "Then this must be Gabriel?"

"Oh Carl…" Elizabeth murmured and held out her hand to her boy.

"Mother…I'm quite alright," Carl hastened to assure her as he approached, his own hand reaching out to take his mother's.

"Oh my God," Elizabeth marveled as she examined the small fingers. Eagerly, she freed her other hand from Sophie's and touched Carl's cheek, stroking it. "So soft…like when you were a baby…."

Jacob leaned forward determinedly and slid his hands over Carl's shoulders and arms to his waist; easily he picked up the small body.

"_Eeep_! Wait…nonono!" Carl alternately gasped and stammered as a red hot blush scorched his skin. "Put me down!"

"Shhh, let us take a good look at you," Jacob soothed as he seated the squirming boy on his knee.

"Couldn't you see me on my own two feet?" Carl demanded _sotto voce_ as he snuck a peek over his shoulder at Jinette and Van Helsing and groaned as they hid identical smiles behind hasty coughs.

"Oh, look at his little toes," Kayla cooed, her long fingers tickling Carl's feet. "Coochie coochie!"

"Ah hah hah hah! Stop! Stop it!"

Sophie leaned forward to rub her cheek against Carl's blond hair, breathing in the scent of it deeply. "He has that baby smell," she rasped, purring.

"_No I don't!_" Carl wailed in mortified horror and began to thrash in earnest, writhing until he worked his way to his stomach and slid down off Jacob's knee. The make-shift robe he wore rode up to expose rounded legs and was on its way to showing a great deal more when Carl snatched it down and backed away, breathing hard.

Kayla looked from Carl to Van Helsing and gestured to the dark haired boy. "Gabriel, come over here where we can see you properly."

The hunter shook his head firmly, a wide grin coming to his face that made his eyes lighten. "Huh, not on your life, Coochie Coochie."

"Don't be shy, Van Helsing," Jinette murmured and ruthlessly pushed the hunter forward into Kayla's waiting embrace.

Warm arms enfolded Van Helsing, pulling him into frail shoulders and the scent of powder and lilacs. Gentle hands stroked his hair and warm lips pressed a kiss to his cheek. For an instant, he allowed himself to succumb to the comfort of that embrace and closed his eyes, taking the feeling of that hug deep into his heart and locking it safely away.

"Oh Gabriel," Elizabeth sighed, extracting him from Kayla's arms to pull him into her own. "My poor little boy..."

"I'm fine...Carl and I are both fine," Van Helsing protested against her neck, feeling the warmth of his own blush creep across his cheek as Elizabeth ran her hands over his shoulders, chest, back and stomach to ascertain for herself that he had no unreported injuries. He squirmed at the familiarity, frowning as his sweater was pulled up to reveal two well-formed, tanned legs with a full compliment of toes. Feeling like a doll being passed back and forth among a group of girls, and knowing someone would inevitably try peeking under the skirt, he had no compunctions about slapping at hands.

"Why Gabriel, you're a beautiful boy," Elizabeth beamed. "Those long lashes...I used to pray for lashes like those."

"It's always the boys who have 'em," Kayla nodded sagely before reaching out to pat Van Helsing's little bottom, squeezing slightly, then laughing when he slapped her hand and backed away rubbing at the indignity. "And a cute little tooshie too! You and Carl both!"

"You're embarrassing them," Jacob admonished the women who settled down with obvious reluctance. With order restored, Carl's father then turned his attention to Jinette. "Of course, there's more here than meets the eye. We're willing to listen, but please, no more stories. I assure you, we've got a very good grasp on what goes on around here. There will be very little that you can tell us that would shock us at this point."

Van Helsing left Jinette to the task, moving to join Carl at the balcony overlooking the gardens.

"Are you alright?" the hunter asked as he took in his friend's subdued manner.

"Physically? I'm fine. Not even a bruise. I suppose I should thank those Banshees, you know, because I had a bit of an infected hangnail before and..."

"Carl..." Leaning in, the hunter caught Carl's reluctant gaze with his own. "What is it?"

"What do you think?" Carl muttered. "It's not every day that I turn into a five-year-old, Van Helsing. And my family...you saw them... Do you honestly think they'll remember I'm a full-grown man when I look like this?"

The hunter considered his friend with unusual gravity for several seconds. Then leaned in, pushed his nose into Carl's neck, and sniffed. The friar squirmed, a titter forcing its way out as he shoved the hunter back. "That tickles!" he protested, scrubbing at his neck as he fixed the hunter with a glare. "What were you doing?"

Van Helsing shrugged, his white teeth making an appearance in a grin. "I wanted to see if you really have a baby scent."

"Oh my God," Carl moaned, closing his eyes and slapping his hands over them. "Please...pleeeease forget you ever heard that!"

Van Helsing snorted as he patted the distraught friar on the back. "If you promise not to mention the eye lashes."

"It's a deal," Carl assured him, and he shook Van Helsing's hand with fervent gratitude.

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: A new story

**Summary: It's bath time**

**Notes: The sole and only purpose of this chapter is to make you smile. I hope you enjoy!**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited); some violent concepts though not graphic

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback**: Ashti, GlasTriskellion, Milady Dragon, SeaDragon68, and Eris68—many thanks for your reviews! I hope this one tickles you (my apologies ahead of time to any 'sore abs' this may invoke). For GlasTriskellion, I've included something about Brother Felcher's robe!

_Special thanks to my muse Archangel Gabriel, the patron saint of the written word._

* * *

**Irresistible Forces 8**

"So this Order…it's been in existence for over 400 years…fighting monsters that live in our midst," Elizabeth said thoughtfully, one long finger tapping her chin as her blue eyes drilled into Jinette's grey. "And Carl and Gabriel have been doing this thing…this monster fighting?"

"Yes, as have we all," the Cardinal agreed, his thin mouth tightening with the inner pain such an admission cost him. He was horrified to make such knowledge available to these outsiders, but as they had already told him what they had discovered for themselves todate, what he had to tell was now merely confirmation. He had known Carl's family was exceptional, had seen for himself their deductive capabilities, and yet he had still underestimated them. Grimly, he acknowledged that there was very little left to do now but to apprise them fully and then swear them to secrecy. Mercifully, despite their shocking and outrageous behavior they were also capable of being discrete when it suited them. Jinette planned to make very certain that secrecy would be plainly in their best interests.

The Cardinal leaned forward, the sound of his chair creaking under his shifting weight the only sound in the room besides the crackling of the fire in the hearth. "You have seen for yourselves that the Order is needed, that there is evil in the world and there must be those who are willing to battle it. Your son is a genius who could set his hand to many things, but his work within the Order has made the difference between life and death for thousands."

"Thousands?" Sophie breathed, her dark eyes widening. "How is that possible? How _could_ it be possible?"

"The evil we battle is not limited to the monsters themselves, but also the spawn they create. One monster can create a hundred or even hundreds more like itself in the course of a lifetime. Some monsters have lived much longer than a normal lifetime and have created armies. Only by destroying the original evil do we destroy the armies they create. And in so doing, we not only save those innocents they would have killed but we also save the monsters themselves from the evil they would do."

"Save the monsters?" Kayla breathed thoughtfully, her thoughts taking her back to the pages of monster lore she had studied, each more horrific and sadder than the last. "Can they be saved?"

"Yes, some can be saved," Jinette said firmly. "Many of the creatures that we see as monsters had their beginnings as men who lost their way and were consumed by evil. In the moment of their death, the evil is driven from them leaving their souls free, perhaps for the first time in hundreds of years…."

"And Carl and Gabriel? What of them? Can they be returned to normal?" Jacob interrupted. His gaze was fixed on the two boys who now sat upon a small lounge drawn from across the room. Despite their best intentions, both friar and hunter were now susceptible to the same needs and drawbacks common to all small children--in this case, they were obviously battling the need to sleep with varying results. The hour was quite advanced, well past 10:00 p.m., and plainly well past bedtime for the two boys whose eyelids fluttered and closed, only to creep upwards some moments later. Their sharp bright eyes were dull with fatigue and their small bodies limp against the lounge so that they maintained an upright posture only by leaning against one another. Jacob had no doubt the two friends would be mortified at their sleepy appearance but were apparently helpless to prevent it.

Jinette nodded firmly, his own eyes upon the boys as well. "Yes, they can be helped, I am sure of it. But we will need to study how it was done before we can find the cure."

"Cure!" Elizabeth snorted in unladylike disdain. "You make it sound like they caught a cold! Well, it's plain no 'cure' will be found tonight and it's equally plain they need their rest. We'll take our boys to our apartments. Tomorrow is soon enough to discuss this further."

Determinedly, Lady Elizabeth rose and went to the lounge. "Jacob, you carry Gabriel, I can manage Carl…."

"Lady Elizabeth," Jinette interrupted firmly. "I appreciate Carl is your son and you have some say in what is done…but Van Helsing…."

Lady Elizabeth straightened, her back becoming ramrod stiff as she turned to fix the Cardinal with a glacial glare. "He is a child as well. He is no longer your hunter nor a full-grown man who can care for himself. Despite their retaining the minds of men, they have the needs of children. _We_ will see to those needs. If he has family to dispute our claim, we will be happy to meet with them. In the meanwhile, we will work with you on that cure and we'll retain the secrecy about your Order. It's a compromise that will suit us both, I think."

Jinette blinked and subsided with a suitable air of acquiescence. It appeared he had found the key to Lady Elizabeth's discretion and he was pleased about it. As he watched the two limp bodies of the children being lifted, he found he was grateful for the fortuitous presence of Carl's family. He might feel friendship and affection for the hunter and friar as men, but sadly he was lacking in the knowledge necessary to take care of the children they had become. Fervently, he prayed the 'cure' he so optimistically assured Carl's family of would be swift in coming. In the meantime, this _was_ a good compromise.

Elizabeth and Jacob cradled the two limp bodies against their shoulders; when Carl and Van Helsing made noises of sleepy protest, they murmured soothing words as they rubbed the small backs until both subsided. Judging by the air of contentment upon the man's and his wife's faces, their concern for the cure had temporarily taken a back seat to the pleasure of holding children again. For the first time in his long life, Jinette found himself wondering what it might have been like to have been a father of his own small family. Shaking the thought off, he consoled himself with the remembrance that he had a family of sorts within the Order. Still…

Jinette moved to the doorway with the small family, opening the door for them. As they bid him goodnight, he allowed himself to place a hand on the two small backs and felt their warmth pool in his palms. "They will need clothing," he suggested. "Unfortunately, we do not stock anything in such small sizes."

"We'll see to it," Elizabeth assured him with a smile. "Until tomorrow then, after the noon meal, so we have time to shop."

"Until then," the Cardinal allowed a small smile to touch his lips as he drew aside and allowed the family to leave.

* * *

Van Helsing roused from his deep sleep with the odd feeling of being both leaden and weightless. His limbs felt as if they were tied down with heavy weights making it impossible to move. At the same time he was aware of movement and a feeling of warmth and reassurance. He'd never experienced such a state before and felt he should move, should resist it, but his body stubbornly refused his commands.

With great effort, he managed to drag his eyelids half open and found himself looking at a head of white hair and a broad shoulder. He made a sound of surprise and felt a large hand pat his back and rub small circles over it. It felt…good. He wanted to lift his head to better understand what was happening, but sleep dragged at him until he could no longer hold his eyelids open. Helplessly, he slid back down into its warm embrace with a mental promise that the next time he opened his eyes he would do better.

* * *

Hazy memories drifted through Carl's thoughts as he felt himself being settled down into a broad, soft expanse of warmth. Long forgotten memories of being tucked into bed when he was a small boy warmed him as he stretched and turned onto his stomach, his outflung hand closing on soft woven cloth and hair. His nose twitched then settled as he identified the body beside his own as Van Helsing. An idle thought drifted by asking why he was sharing a bed with his friend, but he found he was much too tired to pursue it. Besides, it felt…comforting…to feel the solid bulk of the hunter beside him. With a murmur, Carl snuggled into his pillow and sighed as warm covers settled over him and gentle fingers smoothed through his hair. It was a wonderful dream, full of soft half-forgotten comforts that he was grateful for. As he drifted back into sleep, he felt warm lips touch his cheek and whisper words of love into his ear and he smiled at the glow of happiness it brought him.

* * *

Lord Jacob took his wife's hand and drew her away from the bed and the two boys sleeping in it. Not unexpectedly, she was reluctant to go but he only smiled and continued to press her until she was eased out of the door.

"Leave it open," she protested when he would have closed it, and he allowed her that reassurance, leaving the broad panel open a crack so that she could hear any noises the sleepers within might make.

"They're not really children," he reminded her, smiling when she sighed and shrugged.

"Of course I know that," Elizabeth admitted. "But I couldn't help feeling all maternal when I felt those little bodies in my arms."

"Hah," Jacob snorted, grinning when his wife directed a mock glare at him. "You get 'all maternal' just looking at old pictures. Man or boy, Carl will always be your baby."

"Hmph, well it's a mother's prerogative," Elizabeth sniffed.

"And Gabriel? You tore the hide off Cardinal Jinette back there. Are you planning on claiming Gabriel like a stray cat? The Order might have something to say about that."

"The _Order_ has no better claim to him than we do," Elizabeth stated firmly, her blue eyes snapping with a zealous fire. "And we are certainly better equipped to take care of him than they are."

"Gabriel might not see it that way," Jacob reminded her quietly. He admired his wife's fire, but he suspected she was setting herself up for disappointment. Gabriel was no waif to be rescued from the dirty streets. He had a place here at the Vatican as did Carl."

"We've dealt with reticence before. It might take finesse and time, but I believe we can convince everyone that Gabriel should be with us."

"Elizabeth…."

"I don't intend to leave without them. Both of them."

Jacob bowed his head to kiss his wife's temple in meek submission. It wasn't him that she needed to convince and he saw no reason to prolong the discussion. Clearly, Lady Elizabeth had made up her mind.

On the way from Jinette's chambers, they had decided to place Carl with Van Helsing in his room while Jacob and Elizabeth took Carl's old room so that they would be near the boys. Kayla and Sophie had giggled like besotted schoolgirls, making allusions to 'newlyweds' and the romantic boost having 'two babies in the house' would bring; while Elizabeth had hushed them sternly, Jacob couldn't help noticing the blush on her cheeks. Jacob had only just managed not to roll his eyes. He certainly didn't need children under foot to feel a romantic interest in his wife!

Of course…they _were_ going to be on the other side of the suite, far removed from Kayla's and Sophie's flapping ears…it would be a pity to waste the opportunity….

* * *

Bright sunlight streaming in over his closed eyelids brought the hunter awake with a broad growling yawn. Stretching beneath the heavy blankets, he wiggled his bare toes with a pleasure he hadn't felt in years. Absolutely nothing hurt anywhere on his body—he couldn't remember the last time he could make that claim. His healing ability was miraculous when it came to closing wounds and knitting bones, but unfortunately it didn't extend so far as to erase the pain of those wounds, whose discomfort often lingered long after evidence of the original hurt was gone from sight. 

Tentatively, Van Helsing opened his eyes; squinting into the bright sunshine, he freed one hand from the coverlets to shield his eyes, then stared at the little palm and fingers in surprise for several seconds before memory rushed back. With a groan, he dropped his arm over his eyes.

"Mmmph…."

The hunter's arm arose as his eyes snapped to the side to take in the blond, rumpled child lying beside him. He blinked, several times, trying to remember coming to bed and was forced to finally admit that they had not achieved that state on their own.

"Carl," he growled, elbowing the blond boy and getting in return a frown and a string of muttered words that sounded suspiciously like curses. Evidently boyhood had not changed Carl's basic nature.

"Wake up Sleeping Beauty," the hunter growled and nudged the friar more forcefully with a sharp elbow.

"Oh God…," Carl snarled, without the slightest trace of piety, "the world had _better_ be coming to an end or I'll surely smite this heathen."

"At least you'll have to open your eyes to do it," Van Helsing snorted as he pulled himself up into a sitting position and noticed for the first time that he still wore the same grey sweater from the day before. Things were looking up—given half the chance he suspected Carl's family would have had them in something with feet and a trap door. Knuckling his eyes while he squinted about the room, he determined they had been settled down in his old room, which suggested Carl's parents had taken their son's room, no doubt to be close to Carl. It was looking like the friar's dire predictions of being treated like the 5-year old he appeared to be were coming true. Van Helsing regretted having to disappoint the family, but he had no intentions of living up to his part of being a precocious child, and he suspected Carl would agree. Once, of course, the friar actually woke up.

Leaning over the other boy, a wicked grin came to the hunter's face as he murmured into Carl's ear, "Carl…if you don't get up, you won't be able to get washed before your mother comes in insisting on bathing you herself."

Abruptly, Carl jolted upward, narrowly missing butting Van Helsing in the face. His wide blue eyes flew about the room, making a complete circuit to assure himself his mother and an armload of bath accessories were nowhere in sight before he sagged back against the pillows. Eyeing the hunter grinning above him, his eyes narrowed.

"I had no idea you could be so cruel, Van Helsing."

"Cruel to be kind, Carl. Now unless you want to share a bath time experience with your mother, I suggest you get up."

With that said, Van Helsing slid over the broad rumpled bed to the edge. In keeping with the apartment's other sumptuous luxuries, their bed frame was made from glowing cherry wood, ornately carved, and piled with down comforters. A small footstool stood by to assist the sleeper in climbing up to and down from the mattress, the top of which was a good four feet off the floor. For a grown man, the height from floor to mattress top was a small matter—for a child it was a daunting climb.

As one dark eye brow rose over the distance, Van Helsing's lips thinned in a determined grimace. With a muttered oath, he slid off the side of the bed and landed with a hard jolt on the stone floor below.

"Ow," he winced as he picked up first one foot then the other, shaking the sting out of the soles of his feet. It occurred to him that if they didn't resolve this little problem soon, his self-confidence was going to get a severe bruising.

Turning to the bed, he looked up at Carl's pink face peering down at him.

"Well?"

"I'm thinking…."

"Come on, Carl. I did it, so can you."

Carl's blue eyes looked dubiously at the hunter. "You're taller than me. It's not so far for you."

"Oh for...," the hunter grunted, closing his eyes as he dropped his head. "Fine, I'll help you."

Determinedly, the hunter moved up to the bed, his hands catching the friar's dangling pink feet--which immediately kicked at him as the friar giggled. Van Helsing's eyes narrowed dangerously as Carl's face flooded with color.

"I'm sorry," he apologized with every evidence of mortification. "I forgot how ticklish I was as a child."

Van Helsing shook his head as he held out his hands in supplication. "Carl, by the time we finally get you out of bed, it will be past noon. Now _jump_! I'll catch you."

Something in Van Helsing's face must have convinced Carl, because in the next instant he was flying off the bed. Van Helsing threw up his arms, catching the friar to him as he staggered backwards, and then fell, landing on his back with Carl on top of him. He had a brief view of Carl's wide blue eyes and startled face before the friar rolled off him.

"Are you alright?"

"We're going to work on your jumping skills, Carl," the hunter assured his friend firmly. Slowly sitting up, the hunter gingerly rose to his feet, his hand going back to rub at his backside. Carl stood to one side, rueful hands clutching one another at his chest while he chewed on his lower lip. It struck Van Helsing that there could be no more woeful sight and he sighed as he gave over ministering to his aches to sling an arm about his friend's shoulders.

"Don't worry about it Carl, I won't die from a bump on the bottom. But I _will_ die if I end up being given a bath by your parents. So let's go."

* * *

They decided against using the bath in the suite and opted instead for the baths reserved for the friars and monks downstairs. Like two diminutive thieves, they stole from the bedroom, out through the quiet sitting room, to the apartment door where they encountered their second obstacle. The doors of the apartment were original and their ornate metal knobs were set higher up on the heavy panels than was normal. It required a bit of maneuvering, but with Van Helsing on all fours and Carl standing on his back, they managed to get the door open, thankfully with no telltale squeaking or groans. 

Once out in the corridor, they slid their fingers beneath the door to pull it quietly shut.

"This is more work than monster hunting," Van Helsing muttered and was whole-heartedly seconded.

The day was still fairly new and the foot traffic in the common areas was light; their biggest worry was avoiding the Vatican Guard whose dedicated and humorless members seemed to be everywhere. Van Helsing and Carl managed to avoid being seen by making diligent use of the plentifully available nooks and crannies, but with the time it took to avoid any chance encounters, it was a good hour before the two finally managed to make their way to the baths.

The bathing accommodations reserved for the friars and monks were not meant, in any way, to be impressive. Their sole intent was utilitarian use, preferably as speedy as possible. Toward that end, the baths were actually one large room with a single large recess meant to hold water. As it was getting later in the year and heating the water for the bath was an unnecessary expense, the room also hosted a set of economically constructed showers whose source of water was a single large vat of that was warm or hot depending upon the weather outside. A firm tug on the rusted chain hanging beside the shower head would deluge the bather until the chain was released. The amount of water released could be controlled by how hard the chain was pulled. The setup was crude, but efficient. Beneath the showers and circling the chamber was a utility shelf upon which bathers could set their soaps, towels, razors, and other grooming paraphernalia. As was human nature, the Brothers often opted to simply leave these items in the chamber rather than carry them to and fro. This fit into Carl's and Van Helsing's plans perfectly.

Brother Seldom had a loyal and loving family who frequently gifted him with expensive toiletry items, all of which the good Brother kept in the bathing room. With Van Helsing's arms wrapped tightly about Carl's middle, the friar was hoisted upward so that he could carefully use both hands to grasp the ornate glass bottle of soft soap.

"You're sure this isn't stealing?" the friar asked as he tucked the bottle safely against his chest.

"_**Hmphgl**_," the hunter groaned.

"I've got it, let me down," Carl hurriedly assured his friend, and held tightly to the bottle as he slid down to his feet. Once safely settled, the friar eyed the wheezing hunter dubiously. "I'm not fat, you know."

"I…know," Van Helsing growled. "I don't…have the same muscles that I had as a man…Carl. You try lifting…your own weight over your head…see how you do!"

"Oh. You have a point," the friar amended graciously before turning away to select his shower. Van Helsing rolled his eyes as he followed behind, his fingers already busy loosening the belt about his waist. Once he had it sufficiently loose, he yanked it and the sweater up over his head and dropped them safely out of range of the water.

Carl was taking his time getting undressed; when his eyes fell on the nude hunter he pushed a fist into his mouth trying to stem a snort of laughter.

Van Helsing raised an annoyed eyebrow. "Just remember, Carl, I'm not the one with the 'baby scent'."

That shut the friar up and with justifiable smugness, the hunter yanked on the chain, gasping as cold water poured over him, drenching him from head to foot. Releasing the chain, he shook his head roughly to clear the water from his eyes, managing to splatter water in all directions in the process.

"Hey!" Carl protested, raising his arms to shield himself from the flying droplets.

"You're going to get wet anyway…," the hunter said, eyeing the still-dressed friar. "Eventually."

"I like to take my time with these things," Carl huffed pompously. "I don't choose to half-drown myself like you do."

Van Helsing raised both eyebrows at the censoriously smug friar, then leaned over and pulled the chain dangling beside Carl as far down as it would go.

The friar's yell as the cold water promptly soaked him and his clothing was loud enough to be heard all the way to the Pope's chamber. Van Helsing made sure he held the chain for an extra count before finally releasing it. When Carl turned to him, looking like a drowned pink rat, he laughed out loud.

"I can't believe I've called you 'friend'," the friar wheezed as he looked at the hooting demon in front of him.

"At least now you smell like wet wool," the hunter answered with a grin. "Here, I'll help you get that off."

The robe clung and dragged and took the combined efforts of them both to pull it free. By the time they'd wrestled it to the ground, both were more than ready to savor the cold water of their showers.

In their nudity, both hunter and friar were forced to face some facts. Carl was every bit as pink all over as his face and feet had hinted. He also had a round little belly and baby fat still rounded his legs. Van Helsing was fortunate in the olive tone of his skin but his impressive muscles were quite gone leaving him looking skinny and gangly limbed. Carl discovered that the long white scars on either side of Van Helsing's spine were still in evidence, despite the fact that all other signs of the hunter's hard life had disappeared.

Once mutual discovery was completed, bathing got underway and Brother Seldom's soap was used lavishly and praised roundly. Due to the time taken to reach the baths, their actual bathing time was cut shorter than it might normally have been. Helping themselves to the cleanest of the towels scattered on the ledges, they turned their attentions to dressing.

"I can't wear that," Carl said huffily, kicking at the sodden pile of sackcloth at his feet.

"I know. I'm sorry about that," the hunter assured him. "Just wear the towel, we'll go to your room and find something there."

"Actually…," Carl mused, one finger tapping his lower lip while his other hand firmly held the towel about his middle. "Last year we started a collection of clothing for some of the children from the outlying towns. It never really went anywhere because we kept raiding the supply when we needed clothing rather than waiting for it to decently pile up. If I remember right, I think Brother Albert was keeping what was left in the store room beside his room. We should be able to get in, I don't believe it's locked."

Van Helsing slapped the friar on his bare shoulder. "You're a genius, Carl. Let's go."

"Wait! First help me put back Brother Seldom's soap!" Dragging the protesting hunter after, Carl collected the bottle and managed to get it safely back in its original space. His sopping robe was thrown away in a trash receptacle outside of the bath.

* * *

"You know, we can't keep sneaking down to the baths every day," Van Helsing said as they peered about the corner of the corridor housing the store rooms and the Brothers' sleeping quarters. 

"Yes yes, I know," Carl hissed. "Quiet, some of these monks sleep very lightly."

Van Helsing stifled a snort and kept his thoughts to himself; after all, he wasn't the one wearing only a towel.

Brother Alfred's room was approximately halfway down the hall and by the time they reached the storeroom next to it, Carl was all but blue from holding his breath. Thankfully the door opened quietly and easily, allowing the two to slip inside and close it after. In the darkness, Carl felt about, cursing in whispers until he found a box of matches and a stump of candle. Seconds later, there was light and they were taking their first look at the hopelessly crowded room.

"This is impossible," Van Helsing said flatly.

"Nono, it's in here…"

"Carl, it may be. But we can't search this jumble properly…."

"Shh! Just let me think!" Flapping a hand at the hunter, Carl paced away, his eyes darting from one towering stack of boxes to the next.

Well familiar with his friend's thinking process, Van Helsing began to quietly dig into the boxes and bags stacked around them. The parcels closest to the door were everyday-use items like sheets and toweling, so he moved further into the room. By dint of much huffing and puffing, he managed to dislodge several sacks, tumbling them to the floor.

"There it is! That's it!" Carl yelped forgetting about his mania for silence as he jumped up and down and pointed at a plaid cloth bag tucked well back in a now exposed cranny.

In an effort to ignore towel slippage and a flashing glimpse of way too much pink skin, Van Helsing dived into the hole and wrestled the bag out into the open. As it emerged into candlelight, the garish colors of the bag made Van Helsing begin to doubt having anything to do with the clothing inside.

"Don't be a snob," Carl said, elbowing the hunter out of the way so that he could access the ties closing the mouth of the bag. It took a bit of doing, but once he'd mastered the hard knots he began pulling out handfuls of clothing which, to the hunter's relief, were all in sensible colors.

The pickings were slim, as Carl had warned, but they managed to piece together a pair of pants and shirt apiece. Carl's pants were too long, and Van Helsing's shirt sleeves were too short, but other than that they fit well enough. The real find appeared at the bottom of the bag—several pairs of boots from which both found good fits.

"Thank God," Carl sighed as he stamped his foot solidly into the small boot he'd found. "I was getting tired of standing on cold stone floors!"

"I was getting tired of the constant draft," Van Helsing said. "I don't know how you stand it."

"Well, you have to remember, we're not bare naked under our robes. Though that robe that Brother Felcher made for you certainly didn't leave much to the imagination."

Van Helsing's face flushed with dark color as he growled at the friar, "I didn't ask him to make it."

"Nono, of course not. He has quite a bad case of hero worship for you, you know. Naturally, he'd want to make you look…er…."

The hunter abruptly subsided onto a box as he winced at the memory. "It was bad, wasn't it."

"No…not bad, per se."

"Per se?"

"Well…it made you look a bit like Rasputin… you know, all dark hair and flashing eyes with mighty shoulders three yards wide and a little _teeny weeny_…."

"Alright Carl! I have the picture!"

"Bottom," Carl finished before shutting his mouth with a virtuous click.

Van Helsing shook his head as he eyed the smiling bright-eyed friar with a new-found if rueful respect. "How can anyone who looks so much like an angel be so much like the devil?"

"Practice," Carl said smugly, rocking on his heels. "Lots and lots of practice. Now, while you're nursing your wounded manly pride, how about helping me put all these clothes back?"

"I should stuff _you_ into that bag," Van Helsing growled as he began to pick up the scattered clothes. "See if it does anything for that little pink fanny of yours!"

"Jealous!" Carl sneered.

The closet really was quite small and despite their conscientious efforts to stuff the clothing back into the bag, they found one another frequently in the way. The result of this was some good natured pushing and shoving that rapidly escalated to an attempt to actually stuff Carl into the bag. Their voices were raised in laughter and mock outrage to the point that Brother Alfred, half deaf and senile as he was, was roused from his sleep and came to see what was happening. When the store room door flew open, both Carl and Van Helsing froze—Carl was in the bag and Van Helsing had one leg in and was strongly resisting any further attempts to pull the rest of him in. Both met Brother Alfred's scandalized gaze like two deer caught in headlights, then suddenly the closet was filled with flying clothing as Van Helsing ripped Carl out of the bag and dragged him out of the closet, flying past the Brother who fell back against the door clutching at his chest.

They raced down the hallway and slid about the corner only to slide and trip as they tried to come to a complete stop without plowing into Cardinal Jinette. Both friar and hunter ended up on the floor in a tangle, from which they took many breathless seconds to reluctantly raise their eyes to the stern gray gaze looking down at them

From his colossal height, Jinette crossed his arms as his foot began to tap a muffled beat. Looking at the flushed upturned faces before him, he shook his head. "How is it, knowing you as I do, I could be surprised that you have managed to cause so much trouble so quickly?"

"At least I didn't break any 400-year old windows this time," Van Helsing muttered.

A tight smile tugged at Jinette's mouth as he unfolded his arms and began to roll up his sleeves. "No, the Rose Window was not broken this time. But you may trust me, Van Helsing, _something_ is going to be broken in the next 2 minutes."

Tbc


	9. Chapter 9

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: A new story

**Summary: **What was broken is on its way to being mended

**Notes: This is the last full chapter that Kyda wrote, though it was never posted. I think she wanted to post 8 and 9 together. Since it's been so long since there's been an update, we're posting it now. We hope you enjoy it!**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited); some violent concepts though not graphic

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback**: To **_Chibi-Kaz (bet your feet hurt from all that stomping!), Ashti, Vidalark, KaindeAmedha419 (Hugs!), GlasTriskellion, eris86, and Milady Dragon_** thank you so much for taking the time to review! This chapter is meant to explore the nature of family, in all its unexpected forms. I hope you enjoy it!

_Special thanks to my muse Archangel Gabriel, the patron saint of the written word._

**

* * *

Irresistible Forces 8**

Jinette sighed as he rocked back and forth. While his motions were slow and careful in order not to wake the child sleeping beside him, his mind was less well ordered.

In the years that he had served the Order, there had been times when circumstances had turned the world upside down and he had felt at a loss as to how to deal with it. Those time had been mercifully few and far between; now, sitting in his rocker overlooking the Pope's rose gardens, he felt surely this was one of those times.

The small body laying against his chest stirred and sniffled moistly. The corners of Jinette's mouth curled upward even as he considered the tear-stained cheeks that had so mortified their owner. Many things had befallen Van Helsing in his 4-year service to the Order, but finding himself unable to prevent a spanking or the tears caused by it had surely horrified the hunter to his very soul.

If he were being honest, Jinette had to admit that it had rattled him as well. He'd grown used to thinking of Van Helsing as self-sufficient and ruthlessly capable. The magic that had been wrought upon Carl and Van Helsing was insidiously devastating and easily overlooked in the seeming wonder of childhood.

Thankfully, the humiliated anger and tears were over, leaving the hunter still a child and his child's body was worn out. He'd fallen asleep between one sobbed curse and the next, and Jinette now sat with his former hunter in the chair beside him, the tousled head upon his chest rocking as he rubbed the small back beneath his hands.

He had respected the hunter's need for privacy and had left Carl in the outer chamber with his secretary, Marcus. He had no doubt the friar would easily keep Marcus harried and fitful for the short time until his parents arrived.

Van Helsing stirred again, a small grubby hand curled into the front of Jinette's robe, crushing the pristine scarlet cloth into shapeless wrinkles. Musingly, the Cardinal touched the small fingers, tracing them, rubbing the little nails with wonder. He had never held a baby, never looked after a child, it was a wonderment to him now. Carefully, and with a sense of irony, he leaned down to place an awkward kiss on the boy's dark head.

If anyone had had the temerity to ask him about it, he would have denied it most vigorously.

* * *

For the umpteenth time, Carl allowed his eyes to roam to the ornate door that remained stubbornly closed, segregating Van Helsing on one side and himself on the other. They had been marched like naughty school children back to the Cardinal's apartments and, while he had been made to wait in the adjoining office, Van Helsing and the Cardinal had disappeared inside.

Judging by the sounds that followed, it was all too easy to imagine what had happened then.

Carl chewed his lip fretfully as he admitted quietly to himself that he was grateful the Cardinal had not seen fit to take _him_ into that room. He wasn't entirely sure why Jinette had punished only Van Helsing…perhaps while his parents were in the vicinity, any punishments merited for himself would be left to them. A vivid blush stained his cheeks at the mere thought of being turned over his father's knee. The humiliation would be enough to scar him for life, he was certain.

No doubt Van Helsing felt the same way…he had always reserved the right to be cheeky with his Grace. Their's was an odd relationship of equal parts fondness and anger. If he allowed his mind to dare to consider it, it wasn't so far fetched to see his Grace as a father figure to Van Helsing. He doubted Cardinal Jinette would agree…in fact, there might be some time in hell coming to him for even considering it. Still…his Grace _had_ taken it upon himself to punish the hunter, rather than leaving it up to Carl's family….

Awkwardly, Carl shifted his numb bottom on the slippery leather settee he had been perched upon for the past half hour. His feet didn't reach the floor and the awkward pressure on the backs of his legs was fast becoming really uncomfortable.

Markus looked up from his desk load of paperwork, a quelling frown upon his face that made Carl freeze, then carefully shrug in apology.

"Sorry."

"Your family should be here soon. You would do well to sit quietly until they do. Children should be seen…not heard," Markus advised sternly, allowing his dark eyes to dart meaningfully to the closed door. A small self-satisfied smile curled the ends of his thin lips. Carl's blue eyes narrowed as he watched the secretary's mirth at what he was sure was Van Helsing's expense. The man never dared even meet the hunter's eyes, no doubt he was now deriving a great deal of satisfaction at the idea of the mighty Van Helsing receiving a spanking.

"You know," the friar mused, his blue eyes intent upon the secretary's brown, "his Grace says it's only a matter of time until this spell is reversed. Perhaps you can tell Van Helsing your theory about children then."

An evil little smile curled over Carl's lips as the color drained from the secretary's face leaving him a pale pasty hue.

"You can spend some quiet, private time with him…" the friar cooed encouragingly. "Just the two of you…talking over your ideas on corporal punishment and appropriate child rearing. I'm sure he'd be fascinated." Carl's smile became a grin as the secretary abruptly excused himself, pushing back violently from his desk to exit the office at a pace barely below a run.

With a satisfied sigh, Carl settled back against the slippery back of the sofa.

* * *

Lady Elizabeth was not happy. She had been left to worry for hours about where the two children in her care had disappeared to and had only just received word they were with the Cardinal. It was becoming apparent that Cardinal Jinette was accustomed to moving in his own good time, a time that did not often agree with her own.

As she approached the Cardinal's apartments she played over in her mind exactly what she would say to him. She planned, in the shortest time possible, to acquaint him with the fact things had changed. Drastically.

Some yards behind her, her family had given up the struggle to keep up and were contenting themselves with just being able to keep Lady Elizabeth within eyesight. Kayla had consented to ride in the chair which Jacob now pushed with Sophie bringing up the rear.

"She's going to give that Cardinal a piece of her mind, you know," Kayla said grimly.

"I know," Jacob agreed, scrupulously keeping any hint of resignation out of his voice.

Behind him, Sophie felt no such need to mind her tone—it was positively gleeful. "Hmph! She'd do better to hold her tongue for it's plain she's _lost_ her mind. She's going to be shooting blanks at this Cardinal."

"Why don't you explain that to her," Kayla suggested sweetly, grinning widely when Sophie snorted a firm negative.

"No….it's plain she's gone right round the bend," Sophie judged firmly. "No use getting in the line of fire, she'll just have to get it out of her system."

"Give her a couple of babbies and she's as fierce as a mother wolf," Kayla nodded sagely. "You're right. Best let her get it out of her system and mop up the pieces later."

Jacob remained silent, though he did send up a silent prayer.

* * *

The guards standing before the ornate office doors eyed the incoming family with trepidation. Carl's family was well known, even to the Vatican guard.

"Should we let them through?"

The guard commander gave the determined look on Lady' Elizabeth's face due consideration, then he eyed up the harridans bringing up the rear. The last time the family had visited, he'd had an opportunity to speak to all three…at length…. It was a meeting he devoutly wished to avoid ever experiencing again.

With a practiced sniff, he drew back, coming to attention with a clash. "Look alive! They're particular guests of the Cardinal, they've been here before, we've all seen them. They're probably here at his invitation."

"Oh yes…that is why we've heard nothing about it," one of the guards snickered to his fellow. Still, he came to attention as well, striking the butt of his halberd against the marble flags at the same time as his commander in the time-honored fashion to alert the guard within the office of an impending visitor.

Elizabeth barely noticed, her pace never slackening as the guard commander and the first guard opposite him hastily pulled the doors open for her.

"The Lady Thornton," the commander intoned to the alerted guards within, having to work fast to get it all out before she'd completely passed him by. Then he stood, still ramrod straight, holding the great heavy door open, waiting for the rest of the family to catch up and enter as well.

The first guard across from him, with his eyes on the rest of the Thornton clan, jiggled his pike a little. "C'mon c'mon," he huffed, bouncing slightly at the knees and unknowingly giving a good impression of a child who had to pee. "My arm is about to fall off!"

"Quiet you!" the commander hissed, red faced and furious at the breach of dignity.

The third guard said, sniffing, "The _vecchio donna_ is in a chair, they cannot push it too quickly or she would fall out of it."

The first guard groaned beneath his breath, "She is in no danger. At the rate they walk, _she_ could get out and push!"

"I'll push _you_," the guard commander hissed vehemently like a deranged snake. "All the way out to the gardens! You can guard the slugs on the Pope's roses!"

The rebuked first guard made no audible reply, though the fourth guard heard him mutter beneath his breath, "Wouldn't _guard_ them. Everyone knows to step on slugs, stupid city dweller!" The fourth guard didn't speak, he stayed stoically to attention as he waited for the rest of the Thorntons to approach. He was enjoying the excitement Carl's family brought with it and was in no hurry to end the show. For all that _Cardinale_ Jinette was a very important man, in reality he seemed to lead a very dull life. Visitors were rare and those that came, if they did anything interesting, always seemed to do it hidden behind closed doors. He liked the Thorntons very much—since they had come many interesting things had happened and usually right where he could watch.

This time, though, the fourth guard's high hopes were disappointed as the remaining Thorntons approached and passed through the great doors quietly. He sighed with regret as the doors closed behind them.

"Glad that's over," the guard commander muttered with a sigh. "Now things can get back to normal."

"Until they come out again," the third guard murmured.

The guard commander and the first guard uttered stifled groans.

A light of anticipation kindled in the fourth guard's eyes and he allowed himself a pleased little bounce on his toes.

* * *

Regrettably for Brother Markus, he was back at his station when Lady Elizabeth sailed into the office loaded for clergy.

Carl immediately slid off the couch the instant he caught sight of his mother's face—he remembered well the expression she wore. If figured prominently in all his memories of those times his punishments had been harsher than usual. His worry about spending quality time face down across his father's knee resurfaced with a vengeance.

Brother Markus rose to his feet, a propitiating smirk upon his face. "_Signora_ Thornton…."

The Lady, however, spared the Brother a single withering glance that stopped him cold before turning her attention to Carl.

Standing with her arms folded across her chest, her foot tapping an audible beat on the marble floor, she fixed the mini friar with a look of such profound disappointment that Carl felt as if his insides were shriveling into hard crunchy bits.

"You're not hurt, are you/" Lady Elizabeth asked, her voice soft but direct.

"Er…no Ma'am," Carl hazarded, feeling that given the circumstances and his diminutive stature, some sign of submissiveness was in his best interests. His mother might have forgotten that he was a thirty-something-year-old man, but he hadn't forgotten that Look.

"And Gabriel? Where is he?"

"Ah…well, he's in there…with Cardinal Jinette," Carl said, turning to gesture to the closed door.

"I see." The staccato sound of Lady' Elizabeth's foot picked up speed. "I'll deal with that shortly. In the meantime, I want you to understand that I am very disappointed in you, Carl."

"Yes. I see that," Carl sighed, a wash of color tinting his cheeks as he thought of Brother Markus and his Incredible Flapping Lips repeating the friar's dressing down to his cronies later. He couldn't blame them, this was the stuff of blackmail that would be good for years. He thought her voice was too low to carry to the two guards at attention on the interior side of the great doors, but he wasn't _certain_. Fisting his hands into his borrowed trousers, he looked up at his mother with pleading blue eyes, silently begging her not to humiliate him in front of his former coworkers.

Lady Elizabeth was not a stupid woman. It was with a visible effort that she managed to push back the worry and fright that she had been dealing with so that she could assume some semblance of calmness. Then, she nodded to Carl. "We will discuss this later, Carl."

"Yes, yes of course," Carl agreed, nodding vigorously as internally he heaved a great sigh of relief.

With that taken care of, the woman's blue eyes turned to the closed door, a snapping fire kindling in them.

Brother Markus cleared his throat. He was disappointed that the English woman would not be venting her anger on the friar, but he had a duty to perform as Jinette's watchdog. Not even the fire in the lady's fine eyes would sway him.

"_Signora_…," he began only to falter as those fine eyes turned to him, pinning him like a bug.

"It's always best to think before acting," Lady Elizabeth said softly. "So I'll tell you this, young man. You should think twice about interfering with me right now. My ward is in there, so I'm certain Cardinal Jinette is expecting me. I plan to have words with His Grace and I don't want to waste any of them on you. Carl, you stay here, your father will be coming shortly."

With that, Lady Elizabeth turned back to the door, pushing it open herself. It closed behind her with a muffled but definite click.

Carl, Markus and the guards eyed the closed door for some seconds, expecting to hear sounds of mayhem. They were strangely disappointed as silence prevailed.

The brother spoke first, his dark eyes turning to Carl with a new light of respect in them. "Your mother…she is formidable."

"You haven't met my mother," Carl assured the brother, smiling at his look of puzzlement. "_That_ was Lady Elizabeth. My mother is much scarier."

"Ahh," the brother breathed, then crossed himself with a shiver.

"Amen," Carl sighed and settled himself back on the leather couch to wait for the rest of his family.

* * *

Cardinal Jinette greeted Lady Elizabeth with every semblance of pleasure and courtesy. He stood, hands behind his back, before the lit fire, just as he had greeted the family the previous night.

She greeted him in return with equal politesse, though it was somewhat chilly. "I was informed," she said carefully, " that my son and Gabriel had been found and brought to you."

"Yes. I found them myself, actually. I brought them here."

"I appreciate your having found them, Your Grace," she murmured, a smile flirting with the corners of her mouth that didn't quite make its way to her eyes. "Gabriel is alright?"

The Cardinal nodded. "Yes, he is well."

"Good, good. I was worried, you see," she admitted, her eyes narrowing slightly as her smile widened. "I was afraid they had come to harm, as apparently you found them two hours before but we were only informed less than 15 minutes ago. I assumed they must have been injured in some way, and in dealing with their injuries you only just now had time to send for us."

Some of Jinette's aplomb left him as he shifted from one foot to the other. "I am sorry for causing you any worry, Lady Thornton. You must realize, though, that the Order has been dealing with such things for well over 400 years. We are not accustomed to giving notice to outsiders of our movements."

Elizabeth's voice rose, ever so slightly. "Your Order may be accustomed to dealing with a great many things, but it has not spent 400 years dealing with me. I've always made it a policy to enter any new partnership with a full understanding of what's expected by both parties. I am prepared to honor our commitment to maintain silence about the Order. By 'commitment', I mean that your interests are now my _active_ concern. If any issue should arise that would impact the Order, I will act in your best interests. In return, I would ask that you honor _my_ interests as a parent. I do not ask that you change centuries-old traditions. I do expect that we be kept fully informed of Carl's and Gabriel's whereabouts and status in a _timely_ manner."

Two bright spots of color had risen on Jinette's pale cheeks. He was not accustomed to dealing with women, let alone women who attempted to instruct him on the doings of the Order.

"Madame," he huffed, his dark brows drawing down in a frown. "In 400 years, we have not had to account for the comings and goings of our operatives to anyone outside of the Order, not even his Holiness."

Elizabeth waggled a finger at the Cardinal. "Ah, but your operatives were not five-year-old mischievous boys. If they had been, I am certain their mothers would have wanted to know a great deal more about what they were doing. Given the unusual circumstances, I'm certain you can see the need for the Order to bend a few time-honored traditions. Ours will, per force, need to be a little more interactive partnership than perhaps you are used to. Given your workload, though, surely a little fresh air blowing through things would not be amiss."

"A little fresh air!" Jinette repeated, aghast at the prospect.

Elizabeth batted her eyes at him. "Think of us as new operatives," she suggested sweetly. "Keeping us fully briefed, in a timely manner, means the operation will be a success. And we all want that, don't we? Now, where is Gabriel? Over here?"

She left the Cardinal musing darkly as she crossed the room, decorously overlooking the mussed bed and breakfast things on the little side table to home in on the rocking chair.

The sound of voices, though lowered, had served to awaken the hunter. He now stood upright by the chair, rubbing at his eyes while cursing the fact that his bottom was stinging as if stung by bees. For an instant, he allowed his gaze to settle on Jinette and within their depths was a promise that the indignity would not be forgotten.

"Gabriel?" Elizabeth murmured, sinking down in the chair as she pulled the boy about to face her. "You look like you've been crying—are you alright?"

Having endured a spanking from a man he was used to dealing with as an equal was enough humiliation for one day. He was not about to share the fact with Carl's mother.

"I'm fine," he said shortly, keeping his voice rigorously even and his eyes averted. "You're ready to go?"

"Yes dear, quite ready." Impulsively, Elizabeth pulled Van Helsing to her and hugged him hard. She held on through his instinctive resistance, rubbing his back until she felt his muscles soften and he laid his face against her shoulder. Carefully, she pressed a kiss to his neck, noting the scent of soap as she did so. That explained why he and Carl had left the apartments. No doubt they had been mortified of being bathed by she or Jacob. Elizabeth sighed, and admitted that while she might castigate the Cardinal for not keeping her informed, she was just as guilty of not having the same talk with her son and his friend.

"Gabriel?" Pulling back, she smiled wistfully as she stroked the tear-stained face and saw the hazel eyes were once again distant. "Dear, why don't you go join Carl outside while I say goodnight to the Cardinal?"

He nodded and turned away. She watched his stiff gait as he moved past the Cardinal, never looking at the man, to exit the room. She rose then, slowly, straightening her skirts with deliberation. When she was satisfied, she looked up at Jinette.

"You struck Gabriel, didn't you." She watched the Cardinal's eyes as she spoke, nodding almost immediately. "I understand why you did it," she sighed, then shook her head. "You and Gabriel have never gotten along."

Jinette's grey eyes clouded as he shook his head and his shoulders slumped from their rigorous stance. "Van Helsing is a complicated man. I have worked with him for four years—during that time I have sent him on many missions from which I could not expect him to return. I was always pleased when he proved me wrong."

Elizabeth grew thoughtful as she watched the man before her. Upon realizing he had taken it upon himself to punish Gabriel, her first reaction had been to vent all the fury of a protective mother on him. But, looking at his stooped appearance and the sadness in his eyes, a great many things became clear to her. Smiling sadly, she patted the Cardinal's shoulder. "It can be very hard to tell someone that you love them, even when you have known them for a very long time. Gabriel needs a place to belong, a family. I can see it, I'm sure you can as well. It wouldn't hurt him to know that you care for him. I think it would make his life, doing what he does, easier for him. I think it might make things easier on you as well."

The Cardinal sniffed, but he had a thoughtful air to him that was less closed, less rigid. Elizabeth patted him again, nodding.

"So you will know, we are taking the boys to the village to shop for clothing and whatever else they would like. While we are there, we'll feed them lunch as well."

"Hmph. I suspect you will find them a handful," Jinette growled and Elizabeth's smile broadened into a grin.

"I expect you are right. Though they have the minds of men, they have the instincts and bodies of boys. The mind doesn't always have the last word in what the body does, else we would all be perfect angels. I'm sure you agree."

Jinette snorted, shaking his head as he took Elizabeth's elbow to guide her to the apartment doors. "I serve a church that was built on that understanding," he assured her.

The rest of the Thornton clan was waiting for them in the outer office, along with a very jumpy secretary. Jinette raised one eyebrow at the man and shook his head at the wobbly twitching smile he got in return. It was apparent that both he and his secretary would have something to think about, compliments of Carl's family.

As he bid them good bye, his eyes fell on Van Helsing and he paused. He didn't realize a wistful expression softened his eyes as he reached out to pat the soft olive skin of the boy's cheek. When Van Helsing's dark brows rose in surprise, Jinette smiled.

"Do not be too much of a hellion, eh?"

"I always _try_," the hunter assured him, a corner of his mouth twitching up in a wry grimace.

"Yes," Jinette agreed, "I know you always try. You and trouble…I think you were born from the same mother."

"Hmph. You're a priest, you should be used to sinners with good intentions."

"You are not a sinner, Van Helsing. Just the opposite. While you are trying to be good today, try to have fun as well."

Van Helsing didn't reply, rather his dark brows dropped down in a puzzled frown that made Jinette smile and pat him on the cheek again before he disappeared back into his office. The hunter's frowning eyes then moved to Elizabeth, regarding her with a speculative air.

"So, we're ready to go then!" Elizabeth clapped her hands, smiling broadly at them all. "Shall we?"

tbc


	10. Chapter 10

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: A new story

**Summary: The family sets out to visit an unsuspecting Rome**

**Notes: I'm sorry this took so long! This is the first chapter written by the family and we had some kinks to work out! It's got some Italian in it that we're none to sure of so if you speak Italian and can correct our grammar, please do so! Thanks!**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited); some violent concepts though not graphic

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback**: To Monica, C.D.Rhom, FireBlood Sentry, Milady Dragon, and Poppy Cotton of Underhill, thank you so much for your reviews of Chapter 9. They were much appreciated! Hopefully, you'll enjoy this new chapter as well!

_Special thanks to my muse Archangel Gabriel, the patron saint of the written word._

**

* * *

Irresistible Forces 10 **

Brother Felcher wasn't sure. As he sat upon his hard wooden stool, tucked well away in the niche that served as his 'office' in stores, he brooded in private upon a very serious matter. The unconscious object of his ruminations hung straight and proper on a sturdy wooden hanger, every fold and tuck exactly so.

The Black Robe (he'd come to think of it in capital letters) had been returned to him after Van Helsing's set-to with the Banshees. He'd been thrilled to hear that the hunter had worn his creation into battle; when he received the robe he was both thrilled anew and horrified to discover that there was now a large and unmistakable stain upon the chest that could only be blood. His robe had not only seen battle, but had suffered along with its wearer in the war against Evil.

Felcher sighed and hunched a little lower, so that he could prop his elbows on his knees and rest his chin in his palms. From that comfortable position, he considered the weighty question he was now faced with—should the blood stain be removed or not?

True, some might say that retaining the stain was a bit…a very little bit….macabre. But Brother Felcher looked upon the stain not as an insensate thing, but rather as a brother warrior. It was a war wound upon the form of his robe, and like all war wounds not to be dismissed lightly. The robe, and by connection he himself, now shared a part in the Hunter's task of battling evil and when one was hurt, they all suffered.

Delicately, Felcher reached out and adjusted the robe's sleeve slightly, drawing his hand back slowly as he chewed his lip. He'd been tucked away with the robe for some time, completely immersed in his ruminations and it was likely that they would continue for some time to come. It was not a matter to be decided lightly. No indeed.

* * *

Another momentous decision was being made elsewhere in the Palace at the exact same moment as Brother Felcher sought his own revelation. 

Carl and Van Helsing had not actually considered what the "trip to the village" with Carl's family would mean. They too were now faced with some difficult choices.

"Carl, Gabriel, it's not as if there is a great deal of room in the carriage, dears. You'll simply have to sit on our laps for the journey. It's not a very long journey, but we can't stand here all day."

Van Helsing and Carl stood together, identical looks of horror upon their faces as they faced the obdurate Elizabeth and the loaded carriage behind her. Thank God, it was a closed box, but that didn't mitigate the embarrassment of perching like gawky fledglings upon the ladies' knees.

The hunter eyed Sophie and Kayla as they peered from within the coach and detected the humorous delight with which they viewed the whole debacle. Jacob peered out as well and though it was easy to see the humor in his eyes, there was also a sense of commiseration as well. If there was absolutely no choice, then at least perching upon Jacob's knee would be the least odious of the alternatives. But he could only handle one of them. The other would have to face a choice of one of the two beldames who even now were making 'coochie coochie' noises with scarlet lips and beckoning them on by patting their laps.

Perhaps, as a hunter, Van Helsing should have called upon the courage he had always shown in his pursuit of evil. Perhaps he should have thrown himself before impending disaster in order to save Carl. Perhaps. But a tiny, unworthy, voice in his head insisted that these were Carl's relatives and any indignities to be suffered at their hands should rightly belong to the friar.

"Not a chance," the hunter said firmly, raising one dark brow at the huff of impatience Elizabeth allowed herself to expel over his stubbornness. "I'll sit with the coachman."

"Bbut…there's only room for one up top…." Carl stuttered, peering at the small seat with a doomed hopefulness.

"Sorry, Carl," Van Helsing muttered and slapped the friar on the back. "Like Elizabeth says, it's a short journey."

"But….noooooooo," the friar exhaled a sotto voce stream of anguish as the hunter left him to climb nimbly to the box, seating himself with satisfaction beside the startled coachman.

"Alright, Carl, that's enough. In you go." Firmly, despite Carl's squawk of horror, Elizabeth picked the mini friar up and set him inside the coach. Sophie reached for her nephew with a delighted cooing noise at the same time as Kayla elbowed her and reached for Carl as well. In self-preservation, Carl cravenly threw himself backward, at his father, breathing a shaky sigh of relief as Lord Jacob settled the matter by settling Carl on his own knee.

"Think of England, son," the worthy man suggested to his red-faced progeny as Elizabeth entered the box and closed the door after.

"Now, isn't this pleasant!" Elizabeth beamed at the assemblage, managing to overlook the fight of elbows going on between Kayla and Sophie and Carl's own flaming face. "Shall we go?"

* * *

Once outside of Vatican City, the surrounding city of Rome was a vast noisy place full of bustling humanity. People flocked the streets, often standing mid-street to carry on loud raucous conversations with wailing babies on one hip and a toddler on the other. Competing odors of all kinds befuddled the senses--strange perfumes segued to a whiff of raw sewage only to be replaced by the heavenly scent of baking bread drifting out of the open shop doorways. The city of Rome rolled and swayed about like an ocean teeming with life. Occasionally, groups of huddled individuals who were easily identifiable as tourists would bubble to the surface and drift by, but for the most part the Thornton family were treated to natural Roman life in all its voluble glory. 

Elizabeth kept a firm hold of Carl's hand as he and Van Helsing guided the family through the crowds. Beside her, Kayla was pushed along in her chair by Lord Thornton, allowing the old lady to devote herself to as much rubbernecking as her heart desired. The chair had been a bone of contention from the start as Kayla hadn't wanted to bring it along. Now, however, she appeared to have forgotten her past dislike of it as it allowed her to spend less time watching where they were going and more taking in the sights of Rome.

Sophie had placed herself under Van Helsing's guardianship, though the wry knowing expression that he greeted her announcement with brought a faint flush to her cheek. The flush turned into a blush, however, when the hunter took her hand of his own volition, squeezing it.

London was no small burgh; the Thorntons were used to dealing with busy streets. There was little doubt that, without the friar and hunter, the family would have been able to make their way through the crowds. But without their miniature guides, they would not have been in a position to experience the life of the city so well.

They passed through several streets, seeing the teeming shops below and the tenements above them with their occupants hanging from windows to shout conversation across the street to the next window. Children played in the street, pausing only to beg for a coin before resuming their games. Kayla and Sophie were easy marks, giving coins indiscriminately. As a result, the family was soon swamped with children shouting and jumping and jostling amongst them.

Van Helsing in his new miniature state and with his olive coloring and dark hair soon became indistinguishable from the other urchins crowding about. Elizabeth and Sophie caught one child, then another, searching each one's face to find the hunter. Above them, the tenement owners were now leaning out over the street shouting what sounded like a babbled mixture of advice and imprecations at the family below.

The noise brought a tall, enormously fat man with a head of thick curly hair that shone blue black in the sun barreling out of one of the shops waving his arms and shouting. He wore a long white apron that was stained with quantities of tomato sauce and he carried a spatula in one hand which he plied indiscriminately to whatever backside remained still long enough. The children shrieked and screamed, dodging and scattering. From their midst, the man caught up two of them by their middles so that they hung from his big meaty arms. He shouted a final imprecation to the street at large and turned back to his shop.

"Where…where is he going with those children?" Elizabeth breathed, her wide blue eyes upon the sweat-stained back of the departing stranger.

"I believe those two are _his_ children, from what he's saying…," Carl murmured, eyes narrowing. "But the one on the right--doesn't he look like….."

The boy on the right _was_ putting up quite a fight, his kicking legs signaled an urgent desire to be put down and small elbows thudded into the large stomach he was clasped to. From his childish throat a snarling growl punctuated each elbow jab.

"Put me down, _damnit_!"

"That's…" Lady Elizabeth blanched, one hand flying to her mouth.

"Van Helsing!" Carl finished in a shout and dropped his mother's hand to dart toward the man and his mistaken progeny.

The man evidently had not caught on to his mistake, but he was patently angry at being made a punching bag. Unceremoniously, he dropped his spatula and the other boy; the latter promptly scrambled to his feet and darted away to the shop and safety. With a roar, the man shifted his grip on Van Helsing, catching him by both shoulders and shaking him viciously so that the hunter's head snapped back and forth and his hair covered his face. Then, clenching the hunter's shirt in one hand, the man raised his free hand to box an available ear.

Three things happened at once. Jacob leapt at the man and seized his wrist—though the man was overweight and appeared soft, Jacob's weight only slowed the blow. Carl ran toward them, waving his arms and shouting in Italian that the man was mistaken. Neither Jacob's interference nor Carl's warnings would have stopped the downward swing of the huge hand. Van Helsing, while being unaware of Carl and his father, was _fully_ aware of what was coming and acted on his own.

The hand's downward trajectory wavered wildly as the man's dark eyes abruptly bulged from his face and a loud, high, girlish scream erupted from his throat. Slowly, like a toppling monument, he sank to his knees, and then fell forward onto the dirty pavement in a tight moaning ball.

The scream _was_ very loud and impossibly high—it stopped all movement on the street as every man within hearing distance automatically crossed his legs in sympathy.

Van Helsing fell free and rolled away as the behemoth that'd captured him fell to his knees. Rising to his own feet, the hunter whirled on his captor, shoving his hair back to reveal snapping eyes and gritted white teeth, his body in a ready crouch. It didn't take a genius, though, to realize the beefy man lying on the street would not be getting up again any time soon. Satisfied that his attacker had been neutralized, the hunter straightened and turned away to check the street. He'd been in too many situations before where putting down one attacker caused others to surface; he wouldn't relax until he was sure. It never occurred to him that, with his miniature stature or the presence of Carl's family, anything would be different.

Carl slid to a stop a few inches away from the hunter, his eyes traveling from the supine man to the mini hunter several times before he spoke. "You did it again, didn't you? Booted him in the personals."

The hunter frowned, shrugging one shoulder. "What would you have me do, Carl? I could hardly wrestle him to the ground and I left my blowgun at home."

The friar nodded, and then winced at the ongoing moan of agony from the shopkeeper. "I see your point. But try to think of something different? If you keep kicking the men of the city in their…er…self-esteem…we're going to have a population crisis, soon."

"I'll keep that in mind," the hunter huffed.

"Never you mind, Gabriel," Sophie rasped as she beamed down at the two boys.

Kayla nodded vigorously as she awkwardly maneuvered her wheel chair closer. "Damned big bully! Probably did the world a favor kicking him in the nuts—go ahead, Gabriel! Kick 'em again!"

Elizabeth appeared, leaning down to sweep Van Helsing and Carl into an all-encompassing hug. "Are you alright, Gabriel?"

"Mnffn," the hunter said, his assurances muffled by her shoulder.

Jacob shook his head as he considered that the hunter probably _was_ fine. He was used to being in rough situations and had probably been badly hurt many times as a man. But he wasn't a man now and as a child he should not have to face the same hurtful situations. A determination crystallized in Jacob's heart. He found himself agreeing with Elizabeth's desire to protect the hunter as best they could. He blinked and rocked thoughtfully on his heels—two sons instead of one. Carl was evidently very fond of Gabriel...why not?

With his resolve firming in his mind, Jacob shook his head over the ladies as they lauded the boys and generally made much of them. Wading in, he managed to ease the boys apart from the ladies, smiling over their red faces. "To forestall any further mix-ups, I suggest we concentrate on getting where we're going. Gabriel and Carl, you'll hold Elizabeth's and Sophie's hands."

When they'd paired off as instructed, Jacob nodded, pleased. "Good! Now, after all that excitement I find I'm hungry enough to eat a bear. Let's find a place to relax and have something to eat. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Elizabeth firmed her grip on Carl and beamed at him. "I'm in the mood for some good Italian food."

"Yep," Kayla nodded, smacking her lips moistly as an unholy smile lit up her face. "Something meaty—maybe with a nice dish of crunchy nuts on the side!"

Sophie cackled like a hoarse crow and made little jabbing motions at the air before her with her parasol.

Carl closed his eyes on the three Horsemen and the damage they could do to an unsuspecting Rome. Instead he did as his father suggested—he thought of England, and the schedule of available sailing ships.

* * *

They settled on an outdoor cafe not too far distant and Carl exhaled a breath of relief as they managed to settle themselves at a table without any disturbance. Beside him, Van Helsing snorted at the friar's sigh and Carl felt no compunction in kicking him beneath the table. He felt a great deal of satisfaction at the hunter's wince. 

The rest of the family were busy settling and failed to notice the little altercation, for which Carl was doubly grateful. He would count himself blessed if they could finish the afternoon without any further public debacles. It was bad enough that his family could be counted to stir up trouble, but he found it hard going to have to watch out for Van Helsing's behavior as well. Usually, the hunter was the soul of discretion; he couldn't understand why Van Helsing had forgone his normal low profile and seemed to now positively embrace his family's chicanery.

Van Helsing, who had been studying his friend's troubled expression, leaned over to whisper in the friar's ear. "If you keep frowning like that, you'll worry your family. Try to have a good time, Carl."

"How can you say that? We've caused havoc from one end of the city to the other!"

One of Van Helsing's dark eyebrows rose in an all-too familiar sardonic arch as he tsked at the friar's dark mutterings. "Hardly. I think Rome is more than capable of surviving a day of your family, Carl. The question is, are you? Now relax!"

Carl's reply was lost as a tall woman dressed in black with a clean white apron on approached their table followed by a little girl of about seven carrying a basket of steaming bread.

"_Signore di saluti! Signore!_" the woman barked, opening her arms expansively to them as if she would like nothing better than to hug the lot of them. "_È un giorno bello! Spero che abbiate buoni appetiti!_"

Somewhat fixed smiles broke out around the table as four pairs of blank eyes turned to Carl. The friar blinked in return.

"Oh! Ah...she's saying...ah...she hopes we have good appetites."

A sigh was released around the table as the family turned beaming smiles of assurance upon their hostess. Carl ignored Van Helsing's barely suppressed snigger at his side.

"_Eee!_" their hostess chortled, nudging the girl at her side as she pointed to the squirming friar. "_Guardi il ragazzo piccolo astuto! Poco angelo biondo!_" With a chortle, she swooped down to rub Carl's belly with one red hand. "_Poco angelo chubby! Bello!_"

"Oh my God," Carl moaned, flushing brilliantly as the woman threw back her dark head and laughed while the little girl smirked at him."

"'Bello'..." Jacob frowned thoughtfully, "that means..."

"_Lovely or beautiful_," Van Helsing supplied helpfully as he surreptitiously kept a firm hand on Carl's arm to keep the friar from sliding out of sight under the table. "A blond blue-eyed angel, she says."

The Italian woman's dark eyes snapped and her smile deepened as she pointed to Van Helsing. "_Quello è no angelo, eh!_" Easily she reached across and ruffled his dark hair. "_Ragazza bello. Questo uno ha bisogno della suo posteriore nuda spanked."_

Carl's flaming face abruptly creased into a loud snort of laughter as Van Helsing's olive skin darkened in a blush of his own.

"Carl?" Sophie asked, hitching forward as her eyes darted from the friar to the woman who now stood upright, hands on hips, a satisfied grin on her face.

"She thinks Van Helsing is beautiful as well," Carl sniggered, shoving away the hunter's hands that would have silenced him. "She doesn't see Van Helsing as an angel though--she wants to spank his bare bottom."

"She does?" Sophie purred at the discomfited hunter, batting her eyes. "I'd understand it better if you were still a man. Mama mia!"

"Not at the dinner table, Sophie," Elizabeth admonished as Carl's sniggers turned into a moan of mortification and he hid his face in his hands.

Van Helsing, on the other hand, grinned at Sophie.

"_Hmph_." Their hostess, shook her head over the strange party, turning her dark eyes to Van Helsing. "_Abbiamo oggi la pasta e vitello. È alright quello?_"

"She's serving pasta and veal today, if that's alright with everyone?" the hunter translated. The family's enthusiastic approval apparently needed no translation as the woman straightened with a pleased look, her black eyes snapping with pleasure.

"_Buon buon, lo porterò fuori._"

With that, the woman patted Carl's blond head one last time before leaving them. The little girl lingered behind just long enough to grin impudently at Carl before skipping after her mother.

"Interesting folk," Kayla observed with satisfaction. "They have a nice earthy outlook. Makes a body feel right at home."

* * *

It was two hours later before the family resumed their trek in search of a suitable clothing store. The Thornton's previous purposeful walk had slowed now to a well-fed stroll as they peered at and commented with favor upon all of the shops they passed. Van Helsing and Carl followed along—after such a pleasant meal it had seem silly to the ladies to insist the boys walk with them. It was a warm sunny day and with a warm meal inside them, the family was now well disposed to Rome and all is amenities. 

Van Helsing, hands clasped behind his back, eyed his friend with a grin. Despite his having enjoyed a large meal in the complete absence of any 'havoc', Carl was still looking pensive.

"You can't stop worrying for a moment, can you?" the hunter asked, elbowing the friar gently in the ribs.

"Ooooh, please don't do that," Carl moaned and rubbed his stomach. "I think I ate a little too much..." Van Helsing's answering snort brought a grimace to the friar's face as he rolled his eyes. "Alright, a _lot_ too much. I feel as if I've got a sack of flour hanging off the front of me!"

"Mmm," the hunter frowned thoughtfully as he surveyed the friar's rounded stomach. "_Poco angelo chubby!"_

"Stop calling me 'chubby angel'! Thank God, my parents didn't understand what she was saying! _Oooo_...I wish I could just lie down and take a nice long nap in some quiet shady nook."

"Not much chance of that, I'm afraid."

"Oooooh..."

"Hmph." Wincing in sympathy for the quietly suffering friar, the hunter came to a decision. Gently, the clapped the friar on one shoulder. "Carl, there's only one thing for you to do."

"What? I'll try anything."

"Remember, you said that, not me," the hunter said grimly before his hand dropped down to firmly pat the friar on the back several times.

"What are you doing? Stop that! Ooooo..**_URRRP_**!"

The loud rasping belch made the hunter grimace and wave a hand before his face. Carl's family paused in their window shopping to look back at their son in wide-eyed amazement.

Carl's face flamed scarlet as he stood in the street, clutching his round belly and realizing all eyes were on him. Even worse, he realized he couldn't stop what was coming, though he squirmed and bit his tongue hard, it erupted regardless. Carl tittered.

Beside him, he heard Van Helsing snort explosively, and then laugh outright; helplessly, Carl joined him.

As the four adults looked down on the snorting, guffawing children staggering before them, Elizabeth hid her own smile behind a hand. "Better that end than the other," she observed.

Kayla chuckled as she waggled a finger at the boys. "Hah! You mean better out here than in a closed carriage!"

Jacob rolled his eyes and reminded himself that, whether 5 or 30, the truth that boys would be boys was apparently a fact of life one never outgrew.

tbc


	11. Chapter 11

**Feedback**: To MagRowan, Tiari Clovis, Monica, Chibi-Kaz, TrinityTheSheDevil, Poppy Cotton of Underhill, and Milady Dragon—thank you for your reviews! It's wonderful to hear from you and encourages us in our evilness to no end! We've left it in a terrible place, but there wasn't enough room to do it justice in the small space left. We'll hurry the next chapter along, promise!

**Dedicated To:** Toto3, we give special thanks. Your long emails with suggestions and lovely critiques has made this chapter what it is. You reminded us, we are writing about Van Helsing and his life is never simple nor easy for long.

**Notes: The words of the lullaby come from "Cradle Song" by Thomas Dekker (1572-1632)**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited); some violent concepts though not graphic

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

_Special thanks to my muse Archangel Gabriel, the patron saint of the written word._

**

* * *

Irresistible Forces 11**

The shop they eventually chose was a large well-established place that, unlike its neighbors, seemed to be doing quite well. Its front was pockmarked with several small dusty windows, in each was some example of apparel in whimsically small sizesfor their perusal.

Van Helsing raised his eyebrows as the women of the party oohed and ahhed over pastel examples of bibs and tuckers and sturdy little workpants so tiny that it was obvious the only 'work' their owner would be capable of was a steady drool. When further observation disclosed several pieces of crochet-worked vests picked out with colored ribbons, it was unanimously decided they had reached their final destination.

Van Helsing and Carl looked at the windows, those they were tall enough to see into, with a grim air of foreboding. When the crochet was discovered, a definite air of mutiny was in the air and though the ladies didn't appear to notice it, Lord Jacob certainly did.

"I'm sure they're merely admiring the workmanship—they know those things aren't for you two," he assured the mini friar and hunter with becoming gravity, though the corners of his mouth twitched violently when Van Helsing snorted dubiously and Carl blanched white.

The door to the shop, a dark ponderous oaken slab, creaked open accompanied by the unexpected tiny peal of a delicate little bell. Van Helsing's and Carl's shoes scraped over the threshold in a single uninterrupted grind as they were forced through the doorway and into the darkened, baby-scented crowded room within. Only Jacob's firm grip on both boys kept them from lunging for the door as it swung ponderously closed, sealing them inside.

"Oh, isn't this amazing," Elizabeth breathed as she took in counters stacked with all manner of tiny apparel. "It's been so long since I've looked at baby clothes…."

Carl winced, as though he'd been struck as he took in the decidedly sappy looks of nostalgia and delight in his female relatives' eyes. He could appreciate the fact that his mother, aunt and grandmother took pleasure in these things and felt they should be allowed to dote on crochet and sleepwear with feet as long as they pleased. On the other hand, as the expected beneficiary of their shopping trip, he needed to remind them, strongly, that he had no intention of wearing anything with a flap in the back.

"Er…ah…."

A hard kick to the ankle interrupted Carl's stuttering attempts at communication. "Ouch, damnit!" he yelped, hopping up and down as he pawed at his wounded leg. "That hurt, Van Helsing!"

"It's going to hurt a lot worse if you end up wearing a bib and tucker in the labs," the hunter advised him grimly. "They're your family Carl, say something."

"I was about to when you saw fit to lame me for life!" the friar huffed.

Eyeing his friend's red cheeks and the ominous way his lip was quivering, Van Helsing raised a dark eyebrow. He was willing to admit that their return to childhood had apparently unlocked an unexpected streak of childish behavior in them that took them both by surprise. He hoped, though, that didn't extend to Carl's blubbing over a kicked ankle.

"You're not going to cry are you?"

"Cry?" Carl blinked and his lip mercifully stopped quivering. "Certainly not!"

"Good. Come on."

"Where are we going?" Carl asked as he limped after his friend, leaving his family behind to coo over girlish dresses.

"If we don't want to end up in sailor suits, we need to take control of this situation," Van Helsing advised him firmly, with dark eyebrows set in a wary scowl. "I appreciate your family's looking after me, Carl, but I draw the line at wearing pastels."

A snorted puff of laughter behind him made the hunter shake his head. "You're laughing now, Carl. Remember, they're shopping for two."

The strangled giggles were pinched off with satisfying abruptness.

Van Helsing's eyes were on a square, high counter set at the back of the store. It appeared to carry the more conventional, sturdy garments favored by the typical Roman family with active children and a tight budget. The colors were all dark, to hide dirt, the material was heavy to withstand rough play, and there wasn't a ribbon in sight.

"This is what we're looking for," he gestured, urging Carl after him. A pair of pants and a shirt apiece and we're done."

"No robes?" Carl asked wistfully, then shook his head as the hunter rolled his eyes. "No no, of course not."

"Feeling out of uniform, Carl?"

The friar released a deep heartfelt sigh and shrugged. "A bit. I've worn a friar's robe for a decade now…it almost feels almost sacrilegious to be wearing secular now."

"Hmph." The hunter's attention had returned, for the most part, to the counter as he worked out the logistics of reaching the top well enough to pick something out. "Carl, if I lift you up, can you reach?"

"Lift?" Coming back from his rueful musings with a bump, Carl flushed brilliantly as he looked hurriedly back at his family. "Here?"

"Well this is where the clothing is, unless Brother Albert has another bag that you didn't tell me about." Peering through the gloom, the hunter eyed his friend and then past him to his family. "They aren't paying attention to us, Carl. You just need to get up onto the tabletop, find something for us and toss it down."

"On the table top! Nonono! Why is it always me? Why don't you climb up?"

One dark eyebrow made a perfect arch as the hunter eyed his friend. "And how do I get up there? You can't lift me."

"Oh. Well…here, I'll get down and you can stand on my back."

"And this is less humiliating than being lifted up?"

"Yes," the friar said firmly, crossing his arms with finality. 'No one will see me kneeling in the dark—besides, I have a lifetime of practice on my knees and, thank God, none being lifted in the air. So it's either you on the table top or we go with whatever my mother picks out."

Both dark brows arched as a rueful smile touched Van Helsing's mouth. "That's blackmail. I had no idea you were such an evil child."

An inelegant snort curled Carl's lips. "And you call yourself the Order's best hunter!" he sneered. "Now move over, give me room to get down."

Stepping back, Van Helsing bowed slightly, gesturing expansively at the floor beside the display. "By all means."

Determinedly, Carl settled down on hands and knees before the counter, arching his back slightly in expectations of the hunter's weight. A moment later, he felt the unexpected soft sole of Van Helsing's foot on his hip.

"You took your boots off," he grunted, moaning as the hunter's full weight settled over him. "God, you're heavy!"

"Think of me as your sins and say a few Hail Mary's," the hunter advised. "I can reach the counter if I jump."

"Jump!" Carl squeaked. In the next instant, he was stretched out on the floor having been pushed flat as Van Helsing lunged upward. "Owch," he moaned feebly into the gritty splintered floorboards. "I think my back is broken."

From the energetic sounds above him, it was apparent Van Helsing was wasting no time. An instant later, there were several soft plops beside Carl, raising a fine dust that made him sneeze. Slowly, he rose, turning so that he could gingerly sit on the floor, his back against the display. Another garment fluttered down, draping softly over Carl's head. It was soothing in the squashy darkness, he was tempted to stay there.

"Eh! You!"

A rushing noise coming toward him prompted Carl to emerge just in time to see what appeared to be a huge black crow swooping down on them.

"_Eeep_!" The startled friar scrambled to his feet, rising out of dusky darkness causing the crow to flutter and fall back in apparent surprise. Van Helsing's bare feet appeared at Carl's shoulder as Van Helsing moved to jump down even as the giant crow swooped down again and engulfed them both in suffocating dark wings. He heard Van Helsing curse and felt him fight against the darkness and he began to push and shove as well. From the darkness, came cruel pinches and muffled sounds. He was aware that, despite his fervent protests, he was being lifted from his feet.

"We're being kidnapped!" The thought came unbidden to his dazed mind and he began to really struggle in earnest.

In the next instant, he was flat out on the floor again, with Van Helsing lying on his stomach. The hunter was up almost immediately, standing over him to face the monstrous black crow.

From out of its dark plumage emerged the wizened chalk white face of a corpse, snarling with toothless gums at them.

"Oh my God," Carl breathed, and scrambled up as the apparition swooped down again; skeletal clawed hands emerged to grasp at him and reflexively he curled his fits and punched blindly at the white face. From the corner of his eye, he saw Van Helsing seized by the scruff of the neck and lifted only to be dropped as he seized the taloned hand and yanked the thumb back.

They fought in almost complete silence, punctuated by snarls from the apparition and curses from Van Helsing. In the background , Carl head the cries of women and one man and thudding footsteps. The white face hanging over him lifted, turning red eyes toward Carl's family.

"No you don't! You won't hurt them!" the friar swung his fists with all of his strength, striking the pale cheeks solidly so that the head rocked back.

"Carl!" From the corner of his eye, Carl saw his father raise his walking stick and bring it down heavily over the monster's back. It screamed with the voice of a woman and in a whir of black feathers dropped the two boys to turn on the family.

"Damn you!" Van Helsing shouted as he fought clear of Carl and rose to one knee. "Look at me, not them!"

It paid no attention, advancing with heavy treads on the Thorntons. To the side, Carl heard the wailing prayers of a woman and realized it was the shopkeeper.

A taloned hand scythed outward, catching Lord Jacob at the apex, sending him flying across the shop to thud into the closed door.

Before the apparition there remained only the three Thornton women.

"Oh God, help us please," Carl breathed as he thrust upward from the floor.

Kayla rose from her chair, her dark brows down in a fierce scowl; Elizabeth moved to her right as Sophie assumed her left. In their hands were their small decorative parasols.

Elizabeth's eyes never left the red gaze. "You hurt my son," she breathed.

"That was very foolish," Sophie rasped at it, her dark eyes glittered in the low light.

**_SNAP_**! Huge black wings extended from the monster's side, at their ends taloned fingers flexed.

Kayla's red mouth thinned in a small cold smile. "We've got something for you. Come and get it."

"Mother!" Carl cried, horrified.

The black wings flapped once, striking the displays and sending heavy tables crashing back. Carl and Van Helsing were pushed back as well, buried beneath clothing and splintered wood. Thrusting his way upward, Carl strained over the pile of debrie to see his family.

The monster rose from the ground, lunging forward, foaming jaws opening. As one, the Thornton women moved forward to meet it, parasols rising and thrusting upward.

Elizabeth's opened in the white face, blinding it as the other two were lanced into the dark body, skewering it through the chest and belly. It convulsed in midair, screaming in agony as it's legs swung forward, and with taloned claws raked at the women. The claws caught Kayla squarely in the chest ripping her coat and bodice as she fell back. The apparition followed her, falling heavily to the floor on top of the old woman to lie still. From its back protruded the bloody points and ripped fabric of two parasols.

Time slowed to a crawl as Carl strained at the pile of rubble over him, his horrified eyes fixed upon the two standing members of his family and the dark silent corpse of the monster covering his grandmother. He blinked at the dark spots that crept over his vision, making the room darker and darker yet, until all there was darkness and the whirring rasp of feathered wings.

* * *

"_Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,  
Smiles awake you when you rise.  
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,  
And I will sing a lullaby:  
Rock them, rock them, lullaby."_

His world was moving gently, soothingly to and fro as a quiet voice murmured a melody in his ear. It was dark where he was, and but for the voice and a small creaking sound, quiet.

"_Care is heavy, therefore sleep you,  
You are care, and care must keep you;  
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,  
And I will sing a lullaby,  
Rock them, rock them, lullaby."_

"Mother?" Carl breathed and felt the rocking pause, and then resume.

"Yes dear, mother has you."

Carl squeezed his eyes tight shut as images of a dusky room with splintered floors filled his mind. Splintered floors and crumpled baby clothes that were trampled and darkened by a spreading puddle of dark blood.

"Please let it be a dream," he whispered, and felt Elizabeth's lips touch his forehead.

"Sleep Carl, sleep my boy. Give me a few more moments like this."

A warm wet tear slipped out past Carl's eyelashes as he squeezed his eyes tight shut and turned his face into his mother's neck.

_And I will sing a lullaby,  
Rock them, rock them, lullaby."_

**Tbc**


	12. Chapter 12

**Feedback**: To Darkling221, Milady Dragon, MagRowan, Chibi-Kaz, Monica, Captain Poppy Cotton and Tiari Clovis—Another chapter in the lives of our friends! Your reviews made such a wonderful difference—they really do spur the muse onward! This chapter was harder than most, we could have gone many ways. A good friend set us on the right path, though—thank you Laurie!

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited); some violent concepts though not graphic

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

_Special thanks to my muse Archangel Gabriel, the patron saint of the written word._

**

* * *

Irresistible Forces 12**

Elizabeth smiled as she smoothed down her husband's hair. They had been married so long, it felt like their entire lives. She knew the man before her so well; what he liked, what he disliked, the small personal habits that he observed every day of his life. He was a fastidious man, in both mind and dress. Not fussily so, just conscientiously. He would hardly be pleased with his appearance now, though she'd tried.

Sophie's small hand settled over hers, then moved to smooth the coverlets over Jacob's form. She made certain that his head was pillowed upon the smooth case at a comfortable height and chased out any new wrinkles. The stark bruises on his face and shoulders were darker against the pristine white linen and she fretted over it, bathing his face with witch hazel and cool cloths. He had no fever and he seemed to be resting fine, yet she couldn't rid herself of the feeling of foreboding. She smoothed his hair, one last time, before stepping back. Only then did her eyes turn to meet Sophie's dark gaze.

"I don't know what to do now," she admitted with a small smile, and shrugged. "It seems that I should be able to do something more, doesn't it?"

Sophie's red lips curved in a smile, her glittering dark eyes softened as she gathered up and patted Elizabeth's hands. "You did very well by him. He'd be pleased."

"Would he? I don't know."

"I do." Sophie tightened her grip on Elizabeth's hands until the woman's brows dropped and her mouth tightened. "And you're right, there is more you can do. That we can do. We aren't done yet, Lizzy."

Elizabeth frowned, her thoughts turning against her will to the dark shop again. In the shop, she'd been consumed with worry for Kayla. She hadn't thought of Jacob. Not once. She'd assumed he was alright, even though he'd hit the hard solid oak door so very hard. She'd come close to losing him. She'd almost lost them all.

"Carl, you mean Carl," she murmured, nodding.

"And Gabriel," Sophie reminded her. "We are Thorntons, Lizzy. It's time to stop daydreaming in our pleasant little world and face reality again. It's time to deal with this, and make it pay."

For the first time, some of their former spark returned to the dull blue eyes, making them snap. "Yes," Elizabeth murmured, her fingers tightening on Sophie's. "We will handle this now. And it will pay."

* * *

Van Helsing sat upon a featherbed, atop the finely made coverlet, his features and body immobile, watchful. In his hands he held and stroked Kayla's fingers, each careful carress willed warmth and strength into them.

This was the first time he had alone with Kayla; the others, sometimes one, sometimes two, had sat for hours with her, wait for her to open her eyes. He had always been there, just as he was now, immovable. He had no faith in miracles nor even belief in a benevolent fate. He believed in God wholeheartedly, but he also believed God more often answered prayers with denial or silence. By his presence he thought he kept monstrous death at bay, and as the hours passed he came to believe it.

"Gabriel."

The hunter did not turn his eyes nor pause in his gentle touches; he answered his visitor in a grim monotone. "You've never called me that before."

"No. I haven't."

A warm hand touched Van Helsing's back, stroked down the knobs and bumps of his spine. Despite himself, the hunter felt his eyes close as a sigh was forced from him.

"Gabriel, it isn't your…."

"It is." He interrupted the gentle remonstration and shrugged off the warm hand. "It is my fault. I'm a hunter. My life is to find and kill evil. I forgot that and Carl and his family paid for it."

"In your present state…."

For the first time, Van Helsing turned his dark glittering eyes to his visitor, and flinched at the pity he saw in the Cardinal's grey eyes.

Jinette's stern face softened and he reached out again to smooth his hand over Van Helsing's back. When he spoke, his voice and words were thoughtful.

"I have asked myself, why a child? Why did those creatures of evil turn you into a child rather than kill you? Was it because Carl's interference diluted their attack? Or was it their intention all along?"

Van Helsing frowned and shook his head, his eyes returning to Kayla's still face. "Does it matter? Dead, or alive as a child, I'm equally helpless."

"_You are not helpless_!"

The stern admonition came as a whip crack, stiffening the hunter's spine and causing his eyes to return to the Cardinal. The former softness of Jinette's demeanor had vanished; his frown was as disapproving and fierce as it had ever been in the past.

"You are not helpless. Nor are we. The Order has survived centuries of battle against evil. We will not bow down now."

Thoughtfully, Van Helsing's dark head tilted as his eyes narrowed. Through his mind, a thousand pictures flew, one after another, pictures he couldn't begin to understand and some he remembered all too well. Pictures of battles, of blood, and of unceasing belief.

"No," he grunted at last. "We do not bow down now."

Jinette nodded, once. "Play time is over, Gabriel. It is time to take up your burden again."

Van Helsing's dark eyes burned into Jinette's. "How."

"What your body cannot accomplish now is a cross we must bear. Your mind, however, has not been lost. Neither has Carl's. And it is with your minds that you will battle this evil. Stay with Carl's family today, to help them through this time. Tomorrow, we will begin again in the lab."

Van Helsing nodded, once. He turned his eyes back to Kayla and stroked her cold hand as Jinette left him to his vigil.

* * *

Carl looked up from his perusal of the Vatican from the balcony window as his mother entered the room. He felt a dull heaviness shrouding his mind and heart in thick cotton wool, smothering it with cloying intimacy. He wanted to comfort his mother, wanted to ease her worries, but he couldn't find his way out of the shrouding lethargy to do more than move over on the settee.

Elizabeth's small mouth curved in a smile as she sat down beside him, her arms going naturally about him.

"Your father and Kayla will both recover, Carl," she assured him with a sigh. "Your father apparently has a naturally hard head and, thank God, Kayla still insists on wearing whale bone corsets."

The friar nodded, though he didn't speak. Elizabeth's red lips eased into an understanding smile as she stroked her fingers through his blond hair.

"I'm so glad you're here, Carl," she murmured.

"Are you?"

"Yes dear. Very much so."

The friar nodded again though this time his blue eyes turned from the open window to his mother's face. He frowned at the tear tracks on it. Without thinking, his shifted, turning so that he could pull her into his arms. She willingly came to him, allowing him to lay her out on the settee with her head on his lap. He smoothed her hair as she closed her eyes.

"Carl?"

"Yes?"

"Whatever this thing is…we have to fight it. We need to fight it."

"Yes. We will. But Mother, I want you and Sophie well out of it."

Elizabeth shifted to touch and then firmly pat his knee. "I appreciate the thought, Carl. But you, more than anyone, should know we don't back down."

"It's not backing down. It's common sense. Van Helsing and I…we're used to this, God help us. But you should never have been involved."

"And yet…." A sigh gusted from her as Elizabeth shook her head. "And yet, here we are, Carl. It's a little late to try to wrap cotton wool about us."

"Cotton wool?" The friar blinked, and a small unbidden smile came to his lips. "It's funny you should mention that."

"Funny hah hah? Or funny as in wearing paper hats and talking to spots on the wall?"

"Very amusing, Mother," he reproved and tweeked a curl that hung over her ear.

"Yes, well, remind me to tell you of a few of our more colorful ancestors. You'll see it's not such a far stretch."

"Of that, I have no doubt," Carl agreed fervently, his mind calling up a picture of the Three Horsemen in perfect detail. The thought served to sober him though and, as if she felt his change in mood, Elizabeth patted him again.

"They'll be fine, Carl. We Thorntons don't give up and we don't back down. You know that."

"Yes. I know that. Tough as seasoned oak and twice as old," Carl smiled and Elizabeth sniffed.

"So, tomorrow then?" she asked. "Tomorrow, you'll show us how this Order really works. And we'll begin."

"Yes," he agreed against his better judgment. "Tomorrow, I'll show you everything."

* * *

Van Helsing stumbled slightly as he made his way to his bedroom. His vigil over Kayla had been supplanted—Sophie would be sleeping in Kayla's room having decided that she didn't care to sleep alone that night. He'd been ordered to his bed and to rest, though he desired neither. Still, his claim upon the old woman was tenuous at best and he had no desire to try to explain why he needed so strongly to remain with her. Against his better judgment, he bowed to their wishes.

He wondered where Carl was and how the friar was doing. He felt a niggle of remorse at having left Carl to his own devices when he was certain the friar was wracked with guilt. It was this thought that hastened his steps to the room they shared. Thinking the friar might be asleep, he eased the tall door open lest it squeak and awaken his friend. He needn't have worried. Carl's quiet sobs came to him clearly as he slid into the room. He frowned, feeling his own worried grief resurface in sympathy.

Seemingly, it took only a second to cross the floor, climb the short set of steps, and slide under the coverlets and over to Carl, pulling the friar into his chest.

Carl's surprised snuffle quickly gave way to gratitude as he settled against Van Helsing, rubbing his wet cheek against his shoulder.

"I know I'm being silly," he began, then shrugged. "I can't seem to help myself."

"It's alright, Carl. You saw your family attacked today, you were attacked. You don't have the will or the stamina you once had. It would be more unnatural of you to feel nothing."

Carl nodded, able to understand the sentiment though quietly he still found his lack of control appalling. Crying did no one any good and he hated having a runny nose.

After so many years, Van Helsing knew the friar very well. He had no difficulty in interpreting his friend's silence and turned his mind to ways to divert Carl's self-recriminations to something more useful.

"Jinette came to see me, earlier."

"Yes. I spoke with him briefly," Carl nodded with a sigh.

"He made a good point. He asked 'why children'? What purpose does it serve to have me, or us, reduced to children?"

Carl blinked, grimacing at his sticky lids and runny nose. Moving back slightly, he rooted about in the bed."

"What are you doing?"

"I've got a handkerchief here somewhere…."

"You came prepared?"

"Well, I hate crying, I really do. It's always so damned sticky and messy and unpleasant. And when I'm done I always feel twice as badly as before plus I've got a red nose."

"Mmm. Well hurry up and blow your nose. I need your mind on Jinette's question."

Carl's questing hand fell onto a folded square of cloth and with a stuffy exclamation, he dragged it out of hiding. Sitting up, he applied the cloth square with a vengeance. His nose blowing was loud and prolonged and Van Helsing winced.

"You're supposed to blow your nose, Carl. Not flush it."

"Hah hah, very fuddy," Carl muttered into the handkerchief. As he put the cloth away, he realized that, surprisingly, he _did_ feel better. More like his old self. And he found that hidden behind the childish tears was a very adult anger.

"I want to find out what's going on," he announced to the waiting hunter. "His Grace is right—why children? And why now? Does it have anything to do with my family visiting? Or is it all about the Order?"

Van Helsing shrugged. "It could just be bad timing. The Banshees attack could have been simple vengeance…."

"I don't believe that. That…thing…it was there for the both of us. Something or someone _sent_ it after us. There has to be a reason. And the timing is more than suspicious—it's Machiavellian. Putting us out of commission is too providential for luck—there's some purpose behind the transformation."

"You're probably right. Still…I'm sorry I got you into this, Carl. Jinette's right, I should have fought those beasts somewhere less public, and I should have fought them alone. They were there for me, not you."

"Pish!" Carl waved a hand dismissively. "You don't know anything of the sort. It's common knowledge that we've been on missions together and that we work closely together. It's not such a far a stretch to think they might have come for me, rather than you. After all, it's my weapons, my brain, that keeps the Order on top of situations. Take me out of the picture and where are you? In a desperate situation with hunters forced to use slingshots and pebbles, that's where!

A reluctant smile tugged at the hunter's mouth as he shook his head in wonder. "Carl…your view of the world takes my breath away."

"Yes, well, it's only ego if it's not true, and we could debate that all night. As it is, I suppose we should try to get some sort of sleep. Mother and Sophie will be accompanying us to the lab tomorrow and I can't face that and a sleepless night." With a grunt, Carl settled down, unceremoniously plopping his head down on Van Helsing's shoulder with a grateful sigh that was echoed an instant later by the hunter. For a few moments, it was silent in the darkened room, then,

"Carl…shouldn't your family…it's not safe here for them."

"I know." Carl frowned into the shoulder he lay upon, wincing at the stab of fresh worry in his belly. "But they won't back down and they won't leave. Kayla's been injured, though thank God her silly old corset stopped most of the damage. And Father needs to rest. I don't think it would be healthy to put them on a boat even if they would go. And there's no where else in the city that I'd feel they were safe. Besides…I have to admit…my family is frighteningly good at sleuthing. Ultimately, we may find their help more useful than expected."

Carl heard Van Helsing sigh, and then nod in reluctant capitulation. He was grateful for the end to the argument and he was grateful for the warmth of the shoulder under his cheek and the weight of the arm slung about his shoulders.

"Van Helsing?"

For several seconds there was no reply, and he thought the hunter had already fallen asleep; then he heard a drowsy murmur.

"Carl? Something wrong?"

"Nono. I just want to say…well…thank you. For everything. You've been a true friend."

The hunter made no reply, but the arm about Carl's shoulder tightened.

The rightness and predictability of his silent affection was soothing, and Carl took much comfort in the fact that, a child or not, Van Helsing did not change. Within himself, he felt a certainty grow--they would find the answers to their questions and all would turn out well.

tbc


End file.
